Solitude is a torment which is not threatened in hell itself.
Busy old fool, unruly Sun, why dost thou thus through windows and through curtains call on us? Must to thy motions lovers seasons run?
Who knows his virtues name or place, hath none.
Humiliation is the beginning of sanctification.
Religion is not a melancholy, the spirit of God is not a damper.
If poisonous minerals, and if that tree, Whose fruit threw death on else immortal us, If lecherous goats, if serpents envious Cannot be damned; alas; why should I be?