Twice or thrice had I loved thee before I knew thy face or name, so in a voice, so in a shapeless flame, angels affect us oft, and worshiped be.

Despair is the damp of hell, as joy is the serenity of heaven.

The world is a great volume, and man the index of that book; even in the body of man, you may turn to the whole world.

I am a little world made cunningly.

No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face.

This only is charity, to do all, all that we can.

How great love is, presence best trial makes, But absence tries how long this love will be.