And when a whirl-winde hath blowne the dust of the Churchyard into the Church, and man sweeps out the dust of the Church into the Church-yard, who will undertake to sift those dusts again, and to pronounce, This is the Patrician, this is the noble flower, and this the yeomanly, this the Plebian bran.

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

Man hath weaved out a net, and this net throwne upon the Heavens, and now they are his own.

I count all that part of my life lost which I spent not in communion with God, or in doing good.

God is so omnipresent. . . . God is an angel in an angel, and a stone in a stone, and a straw in a straw.

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

Sleep is pain's easiest salve