“I am out of humanity’s reach.I must finish my journey alone,Never hear the sweet music of speech;I start at the sound of my own.”

Events of all sorts creep or fly exactly as God pleases.

Perhaps thou gav’st me, though unseen, a kiss; Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss.

A fretful temper will divide the closest knot that may be tied, by ceaseless sharp corrosion; a temper passionate and fierce may suddenly your joys disperse at one immense explosion.

Ye fearful saints fresh courage take, The clouds you so much dread Are big with mercy and shall break, With blessings on your head

In a fleshly tomb, I am buried above ground.

After long drought when rains abundant fall, He hears the herbs and flowers rejoicing all.

Alas! if my best Friend, who laid down His life for me, were to remember all the instances in which I have neglected Him, and to plead them against me in judgment, where should I hide my guilty head in the day of recompense?

Throws up a steamy column, and the cups That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in

There is a pleasure in poetic pains / Which only poets know.

He that has seen both sides of fifty has lived to little purpose if he has no other views of the world than he had when he was much younger.

The Spirit breathes upon the Word and brings the truth to sight.

An idler is a watch that wants both hands; As useless if it goes as when it stands.

If my resolution to be a great man was half so strong as it is to despise the shame of being a little one.

Existence is a strange bargain. Life owes us little; we owe it everything.

What peaceful hours I once enjoy’d! How sweet their memory still! But they have left an aching void The world can never fill.

Satire is, more than those he brands, to blame; He hides behind a magisterial air He own offences, and strips others’ bare.

If we lose all our sweet memories, it means we are dead even if we are alive!

Within a bony labrinthean cave, Reached by the pulse of the aerial wave, This sibyl, sweet, and Mystic Sense is found, Muse, that presides o’er all the Powers of Sound.

All flowers will droop in the absence of the sun that waked their sweets.

Sweet is pleasure after pain.

Through shallow intellect, the mind becomes shallow, and one eats the fly, along with the sweets.

Blown roses hold their sweetness to the last.

I want to open myself. … I want the light of God, I want the sweet love of Jesus. I danced for the Devil; I saw him, I wrote in his book; I go back to Jesus; I kiss His hand. I saw Sarah Good with the Devil. I saw Goody Osburn with the Devil. I saw Bridget Bishop with the Devil!

O most illustrious of the days of time! Day full of joy and benison to earth When Thou wast born, sweet Babe of Bethlehem!