“Be more than man, or thou’rt less than an ant.”

What if this present were the world’s last night?

Only our love hath no decay; this, no tomorrow hath, nor yesterday, running it never runs from us away, but truly keeps his first, last, everlasting day.

Thy face is mine eye, and mine is thine.

I am a little world made cunningly.

Festive alcohol sometimes leads to an excess of honesty.

Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime, nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.

Keep us, Lord, so awake in the duties of our calling that we may sleep in thy peace and wake in thy glory.

Batter my heart, three-personed God, for you As yet but knock; breathe, shine, and seek to mend; That I may rise, and stand, o’erthrow me, and bend Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.

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.

And what is so intricate, so entangling as death? Who ever got out of a winding sheet?

So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame, Angels affect us often.

Without outward declarations, who can conclude an inward love?

The rich have no more of the kingdom of heaven than they have purchased of the poor by their alms.

Full nakedness! All my joys are due to thee, as souls unbodied, bodies unclothed must be, to taste whole joys.

I sing the progress of a deathless soul.

Nothing but man of all envenomed things, doth work upon itself, with inborn stings.

The proper definition of a man is an animal that writes letters.

People’s hearts are like wild animals. They attach their selves to those that love and train them.

The animal needing something knows how much it needs, the man does not.

As long as man continues to be the ruthless destroyer of lower living beings he will never know health or peace. For as long as men massacre animals, they will kill each other.

The soul of man is divided into three parts, intelligence, reason, and passion. Intelligence and passion are possessed by other animals, but reason by man alone.

As long as men massacre animals, they will kill each other. Indeed, he who sows the seeds of murder and pain cannot reap the joy of love.

Man in his arrogance thinks himself a great work, worthy of the interposition of a deity. More humble, and I believe truer, to consider him created from animals.

Animals never worry about Heaven or Hell. Neither do I. Maybe that’s why we get along.