And the will therein lieth, which dieth not. Who knoweth the mysteries of the will, with its vigor? For God is but a great will pervading all things by nature of its intentness, Man doth not yield himself to the angels, nor unto death utterly, save only through the weakness of his feeble will.

The woman in us still prosecutes a deceit like that begun in the garden.

To converse at the distance of the Indes by means of sympathetic contrivances may be as natural to future times as to us is a literary correspondence.

How the purer spirit is united to his clod, is a knot too hard for fallen humanity to untie.

And for mathematical science, he that doubts their certainty hath need of a dose of hellebore.

We have a mistaken notion of antiquity, calling that so which in truth is the world's nonage.

It may not be impossible, but that our Faculties may be so construed, as always to deceive us in the things we judge most certain and assured.