Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely: and pined his loss

Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay To mould me man? Did I solicit thee From darkness to promote me?

With thee conversing I forget all time.

A thousand fantasies Begin to throng into my memory, Of calling shapes, and beckoning shadows dire, And airy tongues that syllable men's names On sands and shores and desert wildernesses

It is not good that man should be alone. ... Hitherto all things that have been named, were approved of God to be very good: loneliness is the first thing which God's eye named not good: whether it be a thing, or the want of something, I labour not.

Freely we serve, because freely we love.

And feel that I am happier than I know.