Plough not the seas, sow not the sands,Leave off your idle painSeek other mistress for your minds,Love's service is in vain.

Times go by turns, and chances change by course, from foul to fair, from better hap to worse.

The path to Heaven is narrow, rough and full of wearisome and trying ascents, nor can it be trodden without great toil and therefore wrong is their way, gross their error, and assured their ruin who, after the testimony of so many thousands of saints, will not learn where to settle their footing.

My faultless breast the furnace is, the fuel wounding thornsLove is the fire and sighs the smoke, the ashes shame and scornsThe fuel Justice layeth on, and Mercy blows the coalsThe metal in this furnace wrought are men's defiled souls.

Christianity is warfare, and Christians are spiritualsoldiers.

As in hoary winter's night stood shivering in the snow,Surprised I was with sudden heat which made my heart to glowAnd lifting up a fearful eye to view what fire was near,A pretty babe all burning bright did in the air appear.

Man's mind a mirror is of heavenly sights,A brief wherein all marvels summèd lie,Of fairest forms and sweetest shapes the store,Most graceful all, yet thought may grace them more.

Not where I breathe, but where I love, I live.

When Fortune smiles, I smile to think how quickly she will frown.

Hoist up sail while gale doth last, Tide and wind stay no man's pleasure.

My mind to me an empire is.

What thought can think, another thought can mend.

Shun delays, they breed remorseTake thy time while time is lent theeCreeping snails have weakest force,Fly their fault lest thou repent thee.Good is best when soonest wrought,Linger'd labours come to nought.

I wealthiest am when richest in remorse.