Good is not good, unless A thousand it possess, But doth waste with greediness.

Sleep is pain's easiest salve

Great sorrows cannot speak.

The rich have no more of the kingdom of heaven than they have purchased of the poor by their alms.

We love and understand talent; we wish it be within us. The truly gifted, those exceptional few, must wait for the world to catch up.

Who ever comes to shroud me, do not harm Nor question much That subtle wreath of hair, which crowns my arm; The mystery, the sign you must not touch, For 'tis my outward soul, Viceroy to that, which then to heaven being gone, Will leave this to control, And keep these limbs, her provinces, from dissolution.

More than kisses, letters mingle souls.