Doth not a man die even in his birth? The breaking of prison is death, and what is our birth, but a breaking of prison?

All our life is but a going out to the place of execution, to death.

If every gnat that flies were an archangel, all that could but tell me that there is a God; and the poorest worm that creeps tells me that.

Let not thy divining heart Forethink me any ill; Destiny may take thy part, And may thy fears fulfill.

Nothing but man of all envenomed things, doth work upon itself, with inborn stings.

Batter my heart, three-personed God, for you As yet but knock; breathe, shine, and seek to mend; That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.

Dull sublunary lovers' love (Whose soul is sense) cannot admit Absence, because it doth remove Those things which elemented it.