From The Pilgrim's Progress, by John Bunyan
His name has been to me as a civet-box; yea, sweeter than all perfumes.
Grace doth shine in your faces, and that you are my Lord’s shepherds indeed; for that you have not pushed these diseased neither with side nor shoulder.
I am a servant of the God of heaven; my business is to persuade sinners to repentance.
This river has been a terror to many; yea, the thoughts of it also have often frightened me; but now methinks I stand easy.
It is my duty to mistrust my own ability, that I may have reliance on Him who is stronger than all.
I am in the King’s highway, the way of holiness; therefore take heed to yourself.
If I leave off, I die, and I can but die at the throne of grace.
Well, you know your sore, and I know mine; and, good friend, we shall all have enough evil before we come to our journey’s end.
You come in by yourselves without his direction, and shall go out by yourselves without his mercy.
These mountains are Emmanuel’s land, and they are within sight of his city; and the sheep also are his, and he laid down his life for them.
Nature is not affected with the harms that others have met with, especially if that thing upon which they look has an attracting virtue upon the foolish eye.
The way to heaven is as a ladder, and the way to hell is as down a hill.
You are not yet out of the gunshot of the devil; let nothing that is on this side the other world get within you.
There is a way to hell, even from the gate of heaven, as well as from the City of Destruction.
All things must be managed here to the supporting of the weak, as well as to the warning of the unruly.
Then did Christian draw, for he saw it was time to bestir him; and Apollyon as fast made at him, throwing darts as thick as hail; by the which, notwithstanding all that Christian could do to avoid it, Apollyon wounded him in his head, his hand, and foot.
Pity becomes pilgrims; and thou dost weep for thy friends, as my good Christian did for me when he left me.
I fought till my sword did cleave to my hand; and then they were joined together as if a sword grew out of my arm.
This fire is the work of grace that is wrought in the heart; he that casts water upon it, to extinguish and put it out, is the devil.
The cause is sleep, or forgetfulness: some sleep when they should keep awake, and some forget when they should remember.
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