He Is Great Enough That Is His

That Which The French Proverb Hath Of Sickness Is True Of All Evils, That They Come On Horseback, And Go Away On Foot; We Have Often Seen A Sudden Fall Or One Meal's Surfeit Hath Stuck By Many To Their Graves; Whereas Pleasures Come Like Oxen, Slow, And Heavily, And Go Away Like Post-horses, Upon The Spur.

What Fools Are We, To Be Besotted With The Love Of Our Own Trouble, And To Hate Our Liberty And Rest!

Words Are As They Are Taken, And Things Are As They Are Used. There Are Even Cursed Blessings.

Heaven Hath Many Tongues To Talk Of It, More Eyes To Behold It, But Few Hearts That Rightly Affect It.

How Endless Is That Volume Which God Hath Written Of The World! Every Creature Is A Letter, Every Day A New Page.