Now ’tis little joy
To know I’m farther off from heaven
Than when I was a boy.

Who in the lusty stealth of nature take
More composition and fierce quality
Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed,
Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops.

Grant that the old Adam in this Child may be so buried, that the new man may be raised up in him.

He knew only that the child was his warrant. He said: If he is not the word of God God never spoke.

We all dream of being a child again, even the worst of us. Perhaps the worst most of all.