The union of a sect within itself is a pitiful charity; it's no concord of Christians, but a conspiracy against Christ; and they that love one another for their opinionative concurrence, love for their own sakes, not their Lord's.

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

Some pretences daunt and discourage us, while others raise us to a brisk assurance.

The precipitancy of disputation, and the stir and noise of passions that usually attend it, must needs be prejudicial to verity.

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

Time, as a river, hath brought down to us what is more light and superficial, while things more solid and substantial have been immersed.

What's impossible to all humanity may be possible to the metaphysics and physiology of angels.