Who is here so vile that will not love his country?

I say, without characters, fame lives long.

We do not keep the outward form of order, where there is deep disorder in the mind.

He that commends me to mine own content Commends me to the thing I cannot get. I to the world am like a drop of water That in the ocean seeks another drop, Who, falling there to find his fellow forth, Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself: So I, to find a mother and a brother, In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself.

This music crept by me upon the waters, Allaying both their fury and my passion With its sweet air: thence I have follow’d it.

The patient must minister to himself

Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.