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

Enjoyment always has a spoiling, otherwise it cannot be so.

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

And dare love that, and say so too, And forget the He and She.

Love was as subtly caught, as a disease; But being got it is a treasure sweet, which to defend is harder than to get: And ought not be profaned on either part, for though 'Tis got by chance, 'Tis kept by art.

Commemoration of Richard Meux Benson, Founder of the Society of St John the Evangelist, 1915 Our critical day is not the very day of our death, but the whole course of our life; I thank him, that prays for me when my bell tolls; but I thank him much more, that catechizes me, or preaches to me, or instructs me how to live.

And new Philosophy calls all in doubt, the element of fire is quite put out; the Sun is lost, and the earth, and no mans wit can well direct him where to look for it.