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

I neglect God and his angles for the noise of a fly, for the rattling of a coach, for the whining of a door.

What gnashing is not a comfort, what gnawing of the worm is not a tickling, what torment is not a marriage bed to this damnation, to be secluded eternally, eternally, eternally from the sight of God?

Let not thy divining heart Forethink me any ill; Destiny may take thy part, And may thy fears fulfill.

To an incompetent judge I must not lie, but I may be silent; to a competent I must answer.

Nothing but man of all envenomed things, doth work upon itself, with inborn stings.

At the round earth's imagined corners, blow your trumpets, angels.