“O, then, what graces in my love do dwell, That he hath turn'd a heaven unto a hell!”

“Heav'n hath no Rage, like Love to Hatred turn'd,Nor Hell a Fury, like a Woman scorn'd.”

“My soule, poore soule thou talkes of things/ Thou knowest not what, my soule hath sliver wings,/ That mounts me up unto the highest heavens.”

“Ah, where in the world have there been greater follies than with the pitiful? And what in the world hath caused more suffering than the follies of the pitiful?Woe unto all loving ones who have not an elevation which is above their pity!Thus spake the devil unto me, once on a time: "Even God hath his hell: it is his love for man." And lately, did I hear him say these words: "God is dead: of his pity for man hath God died.”

“Heaven dwells in hearts, Eliza, not in lands, as does hell – it dwells in hearts.”

“Love seeketh not itself to please, nor for itself hath any care, but for another gives its ease, and builds a Heaven in Hell's despair.”