Reason is our soul's left hand, Faith her right, By these we reach divinity

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

Man is not only a contributory creature, but a total creature; he does not only make one, but he is all; he is not a piece of the world, but the world itself, and next to the glory of God, the reason why there is a world.

This Extasie doth unperplex (We said) and tell us what we love, Wee see by this, it was not sexe, Wee see, we saw not what did move: But as all severall soules contain Mixture of things, they know not what, Love, these mixt souls, doth mixe againe. Loves mysteries in soules doe grow, But yet the body is his booke.

Between cowardice and despair, valour is gendred.

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

To be no part of any body, is to be nothing.