“This she? no, this is Diomed's Cressida:If beauty have a soul, this is not she;If souls guide vows, if vows be sanctimonies,If sanctimony be the gods' delight,If there be rule in unity itself,This is not she. O madness of discourse,That cause sets up with and against itself!Bi-fold authority! where reason can revoltWithout perdition, and loss assume all reasonWithout revolt: this is, and is not, Cressid.Within my soul there doth conduce a fightOf this strange nature that a thing inseparateDivides more wider than the sky and earth,And yet the spacious breadth of this divisionAdmits no orifex for a point as subtleAs Ariachne's broken woof to enter.Instance, O instance! strong as Pluto's gates;Cressid is mine, tied with the bonds of heaven:Instance, O instance! strong as heaven itself;The bonds of heaven are slipp'd, dissolved, and loosed;And with another knot, five-finger-tied,The fractions of her faith, orts of her love,The fragments, scraps, the bits and greasy relicsOf her o'er-eaten faith, are bound to Diomed.”

“It is my lady. O, it is my love!O, that she knew she were!She speaks, yet she says nothing. What of that?Her eye discourses; I will answer it.I am too bold. ’Tis not to me she speaks.Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,Having some business, do entreat her eyesTo twinkle in their spheres till they return.What if her eyes were there, they in her head?The brightness of her cheek would shame thosestars”

“Her faith in a loving and forgiving God is strong, but she worships laughter.”

“She needed to hear the reminder, the reminder that there was more to this life than her heart. Even if it could never be mended completely. She had her soul. She had the Hereafter. She had her faith.”

“Where my soul went during that swoon I cannot tell. Whatever she saw, or wherever she travelled in her trance on that strange night she kept her own secret; never whispering a word to Memory, and baffling imagination by an indissoluble silence. She may have gone upward, and come in sight of her eternal home, hoping for leave to rest now, and deeming that her painful union with matter was at last dissolved. While she so deemed, an angel may have warned her away from heaven's threshold, and, guiding her weeping down, have bound her, once more, all shuddering and unwilling, to that poor frame, cold and wasted, of whose companionship she was grown more than weary. I know she re-entered her prison with pain, with reluctance, with a moan and a long shiver. The divorced mates, Spirit and Substance, were hard to re-unite: they greeted each other, not in an embrace, but a racking sort of struggle.”

“Hallelujah" "Your faith was strong but you needed proof.You saw her bathing on the roof.Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you.She tied you to a kitchen chair,she broke your throne, and she cut your hair.And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah....”