Quotes About Faith

Constant you are,But yet a woman: and for secrecy,No lady closer; for I well believeThou wilt not utter what thou dost not know;And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate.

For to be wise, and love,Exceeds man's might; that dwells with gods above.

O! that this too too solid flesh would melt,Thaw and resolve itself into a dew;Or that the Everlasting had not fix'dHis canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God!How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitableSeem to me all the uses of this world.

Now, God be praised, that to believing souls gives light in darkness, comfort in despair.

My ventures are not in one bottom trusted,Nor to one place.

Who lin'd himself with hope,Eating the air on promise of supply.

And I have not forgotten what the inside of a church is made of, I am a peppercorn, a brewer's horse.

The love of heaven makes one heavenly.

There's some ill planet reigns: I must be patient till the heavens look With an aspect more favourable.

When love begins to sicken and decay,It useth an enforced ceremony.There are no tricks in plain and simple faith.

With devotion's visageAnd pious action we do sugar o'erThe devil himself.

My daughter! O my ducats! O my daughter!Fled with a Christian! O my Christian ducats!Justice! the law! my ducats, and my daughter!A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats,Of double ducats, stol'n from me by my daughter!

He wears his faith but as the fashion of his hat.

I have not kept my square, but that to comeShall all be done by the rule.

They say miracles are past.

No hinge nor loopTo hang a doubt on.

I had most need of blessing, and "Amen"Stuck in my throat.

Oft expectation fails, and most oft where most it promises; and oft it hits where hope is coldest; and despair most sits.

In those holy fieldsOver whose acres walk'd those blessed feetWhich fourteen hundred years ago were nail'dFor our advantage on the bitter cross.

Had I but serv'd my God with half the zealI serv'd my king, he would not in mine ageHave left me naked to mine enemies.

And be these juggling fiends no more believ'd,That palter with us in a double sense;That keep the word of promise to our earAnd break it to our hope.

At lovers' perjuries,They say, Jove laughs.

Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high,Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die.

Bell, book, and candle shall not drive me back.