(1629-1693), pseudonym for Christian Scriver, German religious author
A blush is a sign that nature hangs out, to show where chastity and honor dwell.
My God, there go the chariots in which thou ridest forth to inspect thy fields, gardens, meadows, forests, and plains.—They are the curtains, which, at thy good pleasure, thou drawest as a covering over the plants, that they may not be withered and destroyed by the heat; and not seldom are they the arsenal in which thou keepest thine artillery of thunder and lightning, at times to strike the children of men with reverential awe, or inflict on them some great punishment.
My God, give me neither poverty nor riches, but whatsoever it may be thy will to give, give me, with it, a heart that knows humbly to acquiesce in what is thy will.
Well was it said, by a man of sagacity, that dancing was a sort of privileged and reputable folly, and that the best way to be convinced of this was to close the ears and judge of it by the eyes alone.
Where wildness and disorder are visible in the dance, there Satan, death, and all kinds of mischief are likewise on the floor.
Pleasures, riches, honor, and joy are sure to have care, disgrace, adversity, and affliction in their train. There is no pleasure without pain, no joy without sorrow. O the folly of expecting lasting felicity in a vale of tears, or a paradise in a ruined world!