Love's mysteries in souls do grow, But yet the body is his book.

I throw myself down in my chamber, and I call and invite God and his angels thither.

All other things to their destruction draw, Only our love hath no decay.

We study health, and we deliberate upon our meats and drink and air and exercises, and we hew and we polish every stone that goes to that building; and so our health is a long and regular work. But in a minute a cannon batters all, overthrows all, demolishes all; a sickness unprevented for all our diligence, unsuspected for all our curiosity, nay, undeserved, if we consider only disorder, summons us, seizes us, possesses us, destroys us in an instant.

All occasions invite His mercies, and all times are His seasons.

Of all the commentaries on the Scriptures, good examples are the best.

He that desires to print a book, should much more desire, to be a book.