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.

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.

You are as prone to love as the sun is to shine; it being the most delightful and natural employment of the soul of humans.

A stranger here Strange things doth meet, strange glories see; Strange treasures lodged in this fair world appear, Strange all, and new to me. But that they mine should be, who nothing was, That strangest is of all, yet brought to pass.

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

Be sensible of your wants, that you maybe sensible of your treasures.

You never know yourself till you know more than your body.