An empty book is like an infant's soul, in which anything may be written. It is capable of all things, but containeth nothing. I have a mind to fill this with profitable wonders. — Thomas Traherne Copy Share Image
The Soul is shriveled up and buried in a grave that does not love. — Thomas Traherne Copy Share Image
To love one person with a private love is poor and miserable: to love all is glorious. — Thomas Traherne Copy Share Image
Sleep is cousin-german unto death: Sleep and death differ, no more, than a carcass And a skeleton. — Thomas Traherne Copy Share Image
The sense itself was I. I felt no dross or matter in my soul, no brims or borders, such as in a bowl we… — Thomas Traherne Copy Share Image
I will not by the noise of bloody wars and the dethroning of kings advance you to glory: but by the gentle ways of… — Thomas Traherne Copy Share Image
You never enjoy the world aright, till the Sea itself flowers in your veins, till you are clothed with the heavens, and crowned with… — Thomas Traherne Copy Share Image
Let those parents that desire Holy Children learn to make them possessors of Heaven and Earth betimes; to remove silly objects from before them,… — Thomas Traherne Copy Share Image
“Love can forbear, and Love can forgive...but Love can never be reconciled to an unlovely object... He can never therefore be reconciled to your… — Thomas Traherne Copy Share Image
You never enjoy the world aright, till the sea itself floweth in your veins, till you are clothed with the heavens and crowned with… — Thomas Traherne Copy Share Image
