Woe, woe is me! That sin hath made so many madmen, seeking the fool's paradise, fire under ice, and some good and desirable things, without and apart from Christ. Christ, Christ, nothing but Christ can cool our love's burning languor. O thirsty love! Wilt thou set Christ, the well of life, to thy head, and drink thy fill? Drink and spare not; drink love and be drunken with Christ! Nay, alas! The distance betwixt us and Christ is a death. O, if we were clasped in other's arms! We should never twin again, except heaven twinned and sundered us; and that cannot be.
Samuel Rutherford — The Letters of Samuel Rutherford
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