Who ever comes to shroud me, do not harm Nor question much That subtle wreath of hair, which crowns my arm; The mystery, the sign you must not touch, For 'tis my outward soul, Viceroy to that, which then to heaven being gone, Will leave this to control, And keep these limbs, her provinces, from dissolution.

I will not look upon the quickening sun, But straight her beauty to my sense shall run; The air shall note her soft, the fire most pure; Water suggest her clear, and the earth sure; Time shall not lose our passages.

True joy is the earnest which we have of heaven, it is the treasure of the soul, and therefore should be laid in a safe place, and nothing in this world is safe to place it in.

Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime, nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.

Nature's great masterpiece, an elephant; the only harmless great thing.

Never start with tomorrow to reach eternity. Eternity is not being reached by small steps.

He that desires to print a book, should much more desire, to be a book.