You are as prone to love, as the sun is to shine.

To walk abroad is, not with eyes, But thoughts, the fields to see and prize; Else may the silent feet, Like logs of wood, Move up and down, and see no good, Nor Jor nor glory meet.

An empty book is like an Infant's soul, in which anything may be written.

To love one person with a private love is poor and miserable: to love all is glorious.

As nothing is more easy than to think, so nothing is more difficult than to think well.

The sense itself was I. I felt no dross or matter in my soul, no brims or borders, such as in a bowl we see. My essence was capacity.

The Soul is shriveled up and buried in a grave that does not love.