Nothing but man of all envenomed things, doth work upon itself, with inborn stings.
Yesternight the sun went hence, And yet is here today.
If I lose at play, I blaspheme; if my fellow loses, he blasphemes. So, God is always the loser.
Good is not good, unless A thousand it possess, But doth waste with greediness.
All other things to their destruction draw, Only our love hath no decay.
Doth not a man die even in his birth? The breaking of prison is death, and what is our birth, but a breaking of prison?
Nature's great masterpiece, an elephant; the only harmless great thing.
Poor intricated soul! Riddling, perplexed, labyrinthical soul!
We love and understand talent; we wish it be within us. The truly gifted, those exceptional few, must wait for the world to catch up.
He that desires to print a book, should much more desire, to be a book.
God is so omnipresent. . . . God is an angel in an angel, and a stone in a stone, and a straw in a straw.
Our critical day is not the very day of our death; but the whole course of our life.
Sweetest love, I do not go, For weariness of thee, Nor in hope the world can show A fitter love for me; But since that I Must die at last, 'tis best, To use my self in jest Thus by feign'd deaths to die.
Between cowardice and despair, valour is gendred.
But he who loveliness within Hath found, all outward loathes, For he who color loves, and skin, Loves but their oldest clothes.
The sun must not set upon anger, much less will I let the sun set upon the anger of God towards me.
I am a little world made cunningly.
There is hook in every benefit, that sticks in his jaws that takes that benefit, and draws him whither the benefactor will.
Man is not only a contributory creature, but a total creature; he does not only make one, but he is all; he is not a piece of the world, but the world itself, and next to the glory of God, the reason why there is a world.
If we consider eternity, into that time never entered; eternity is not an everlasting flux of time, but time is as a short parenthesis in a long period; and eternity had been the same as it is, though time had never been.
Men perish with whispering sins-nay, with silent sins, sins that never tell the conscience that they are sins, as often with crying sins; and in hell there shall meet as many men that never thought what was sin, as that spent all their thoughts in the compassing of sin.
Our two souls therefore, which are one, Though I must go, endure not yet A breach, but an expansion, Like gold to airy thinness beat. If they be two, they are two so As stiff twin compasses are two; Thy soul, the fixed foot, makes no show To move, but doth if th' other do. And though it in the center sit, Yet when the other far doth roam, It leans and hearkens after it, And grows erect, as that comes home. Suth wilt thou be to me, who must Like th' other foot, obliquely run; Thy firmness makes my circle just, And makes me end where I began.
Without outward declarations, who can conclude an inward love?
In the first minute that my soul is infused, the Image of God is imprinted in my soul; so forward is God in my behalf, and so early does he visit me.
Commemoration of Pandita Mary Ramabai, Translator of the Scriptures, 1922 A memory of yesterday's pleasures, a fear of tomorrow's dangers, a straw under my knees, a noise in my ear, a light in my eye, an anything, a nothing, a fancy, a chimera in my brain, troubles me in my prayers.
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