My World's Both Parts, And 'o! Both

Busy Old Fool, Unruly Sun, Why Dost Thou Thus Through Windows And Through Curtains Call On Us? Must To Thy Motions Lovers Seasons Run?

God Employs Several Translators; Some Pieces Are Translated By Age, Some By Sickness, Some By War, Some By Justice.

It Is Too Little To Call Man A Little World; Except God, Man Is A Diminutive To Nothing.

Men Have Conceived A Twofold Use Of Sleep; It Is A Refreshing Of The Body In This Life, And A Preparing Of The Soul For The Next.

I Throw Myself Down In My Chamber, And I Call In, And Invite God, And His Angels Thither, And When They Are There, I Neglect God And His Angels, For The Noise Of A Fly, For The Rattling Of A Coach, For The Whining Of A Door.