Be thine own palace, or the world's thy jail.

Love built on beauty, soon as beauty, dies.

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.

My world's both parts, and 'o! Both parts must die.

God employs several translators; some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice.

The difference between the reason of man and the instinct of the beast is this, that the beast does but know, but the man knows that he knows.

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