Oh do not die, for I shall hate All women so, when thou art gone.

In the first minute that my soul is infused, the Image of God is imprinted in my soul; so forward is God in my behalf, and so early does he visit me.

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

The Phoenix riddle hath more wit By us, we two being one, are it. So to one neutral thing both sexes fit, We die and rise the same, and prove Mysterious by this love.

Can there be worse sickness, than to know that we are never well, nor can be so?

Wicked is not much worse than indiscreet.

I shall not live 'till I see God; and when I have seen Him, I shall never die.