Affliction is a treasure, and scarce any man hath enough of it.

Festive alcohol sometimes leads to an excess of honesty.

I throw myself down in my chamber, and I call in, and invite God, and his Angels thither, and when they are there, I neglect God and his Angels, for the noise of a fly, for the rattling of a coach, for the whining of a door.

I long to talk with some old lover's ghost, Who died before the god of love was born.

Christ beats his drum, but he does not press men; Christ is served with voluntaries.

Affliction is a treasure, and scarce any man hath enough of it.

Then love is sin, and let me sinful be.