Men perish with whispering sins-nay, with silent sins, sins that never tell the conscience that they are sins, as often with crying sins; and in hell there shall meet as many men that never thought what was sin, as that spent all their thoughts in the compassing of sin.
So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame, Angels affect us often.
There is no health; physicians say that we, at best, enjoy but neutrality.
All other things to their destruction draw, Only our love hath no decay.
Can there be worse sickness, than to know that we are never well, nor can be so?
I will not look upon the quickening sun, But straight her beauty to my sense shall run; The air shall note her soft, the fire most pure; Water suggest her clear, and the earth sure; Time shall not lose our passages.