Death is an ascension to a better library.
If ever any beauty I did see, Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.
Sleep is pain's easiest salve
. . . Change is the nursery Of musicke, joy, life and eternity.
I count all that part of my life lost which I spent not in communion with God, or in doing good.
Be more than man, or thou'rt less than an ant.
So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame, Angels affect us often.
A man that is not afraid of a Lion is afraid of a Cat .
I am two fools, I know, For loving, and for saying so.
Come live with me, and be my love, And we will some new pleasures prove Of golden sands, and crystal brooks, With silken lines, and silver hooks.
The whole life of Christ was a continual Passion; others die martyrs but Christ was born a martyr. He found a Golgotha even in Bethlehem, where he was born; for to his tenderness then the straws were almost as sharp as the thorns after, and the manger as uneasy at first as his cross at last. His birth and his death were but one continual act, and his Christmas day and his Good Friday are but the evening and morning of one and the same day. And as even his birth is his death, so every action and passage that manifests Christ to us is his birth, for Epiphany is manifestation.
I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I Did, till we lov'd?
Art is the most passionate orgy within man's grasp.
When one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language.
Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime, nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.
Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankind; And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.
Keep us, Lord, so awake in the duties of our calling that we may sleep in thy peace and wake in thy glory.
How imperfect is all our knowledge!
Love was as subtly caught, as a disease; But being got it is a treasure sweet, which to defend is harder than to get: And ought not be profaned on either part, for though 'Tis got by chance, 'Tis kept by art.
Then love is sin, and let me sinful be.
To be no part of any body, is to be nothing.
How much shall I be changed, before I am changed!
Reason is our soul's left hand, Faith her right, By these we reach divinity
Love's mysteries in souls do grow, But yet the body is his book.
If I dream I have you, I have you, for all our joys are but fantastical.
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