“No, I do know that I was born To age, misfortune, sickness, grief:But I will bear these with that scorn As shall not need thy false relief.Nor for my peace will I go far, As wanderers do, that still do roam;But make my strengths, such as they are, Here in my bosom, and at home.”

“Though I am young, and cannot tell Either what Death or Love is well,Yet I have heard they both bear darts, And both do aim at human hearts.And then again, I have been told Love wounds with heat, as Death with cold;So that I fear they do but bring Extremes to touch, and mean one thing.As in a ruin we it call One thing to be blown up, or fall;Or to our end like way may have By a flash of lightning, or a wave;So Love’s inflamèd shaft or brand May kill as soon as Death’s cold hand;Except Love’s fires the virtue have To fight the frost out of the grave.”

“I feel my griefs too, and there scarce is groundUpon my flesh t'inflict another wound.Yet dare I not complain, or wish for deathWith holy Paul; lest it be thought the breathOf discontent; or that these prayers beFor weariness of life, not love of thee.”

“He knows not his own strength that hath not met adversity.”

“Riches, the dumb god that giv'st all men tongues, / That canst do nought, and yet mak'st men do all things; / The price of souls; even hell, with thee to boot, / Is made worth heaven!”

“Words borrowed of antiquity do lend a kind of majesty to style, and are not without their delight sometimes.”

“He was not of an age, but for all time!”