In the first minute that my soul is infused, the Image of God is imprinted in my soul; so forward is God in my behalf, and so early does he visit me.

I neglect God and his angles for the noise of a fly, for the rattling of a coach, for the whining of a door.

Poor intricated soul! Riddling, perplexed, labyrinthical soul!

God employs several translators; some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice.

I shall die reading; since my book and a grave are so near.

God made sun and moon to distinguish the seasons, and day and night; and we cannot have the fruits of the earth but in their seasons. But God hath made no decrees to distinguish the seasons of His mercies. In Paradise the fruits were ripe the first minute, and in heaven it is always autumn. His mercies are ever in their maturity.

But I do nothing upon myself, and yet I am my own executioner.