Christ beats his drum, but he does not press men; Christ is served with voluntaries.
I did best when I had least truth for my subjects.
All occasions invite His mercies, and all times are His seasons.
But he who loveliness within Hath found, all outward loathes, For he who color loves, and skin, Loves but their oldest clothes.
Solitude is a torment which is not threatened in hell itself.
Whilst my physicians by their love are grown Cosmographers, and I their map, who lie Flat on this bed.