Affliction Is A Treasure, And Scarce Any

And What Is So Intricate, So Entangling As Death? Who Ever Got Out Of A Winding Sheet?

I Do Not Love A Man, Except I Hate His Vices, Because Those Vices Are The Enemies, And The Destruction Of That Friend Whom I Love.

As Peace Is Of All Goodness, So War Is An Emblem, A Hieroglyphic, Of All Misery.

Poor Heretics There Be,which Think To Establish Dangerous Constancy,but I Have Told Them, ‘since You Will Be True,you Shall Be True To Them, Who Are False To You.

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.