If we consider eternity, into that time never entered; eternity is not an everlasting flux of time, but time is as a short parenthesis in a long period; and eternity had been the same as it is, though time had never been.

That subtle knot which makes us man So must pure lovers souls descend T affections, and to faculties, Which sense may reach and apprehend, Else a great Prince in prison lies.

I shall die reading; since my book and a grave are so near.

When one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language.

From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, Much pleasure, then from thee much more, must flow, And soonest our best men with thee do go, Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.

I long to talk with some old lover's ghost, Who died before the god of love was born.

If ever any beauty I did see, Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.