The Blood That Is Once Inflamed With

How Endless Is That Volume Which God Hath Written Of The World! Every Creature Is A Letter, Every Day A New Page.

It Is Not Sin That Kills The Soul, But Impenitence.

Satan Would Seem To Be Mannerly And Reasonable; Making As If He Would Be Content With One-half Of The Heart, Whereas God Challengeth All Or None: As, Indeed, He Hath Most Reason To Claim All That Made All. But This Is Nothing But A Crafty Fetch Of Satan; For He Knows That If He Have Any Part, God Will Have None: So The Whole Falleth To His Share Alone.

Those That Dare Lose A Day, Ate Dangerously Prodigal; Those That Dare Misspend It, Are Desperate.

And, If I Were So Low That I Accounted Myself The Worst Of All, Yet Some Would Account Themselves In Worse Case.