And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.

A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee.

Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own

As soon go kindle fire with snow, as seek to quench the fire of love with words.

Woe, destruction, ruin, and decay; the worst is death and death will have his day.

Conscience is a blushing, shamefaced spirit than mutinies in a man's bosom; it fills one full of obstacles.

Lord, Lord, how this world is given to lying!