Every man I believe that God has given a Divine spark of soul

A soul without reflection, like a pile Without inhabitant, to ruin runs

Oh, that curdles my soul

Another day, another dollar, another war, another tower / Went up where the homeless had their home

I’d just die if the soul’s not eternal

Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like seasoned timber, never gives

To possess taste, one must have some soul.

The man who in this world can keep the whiteness of his soul is not likely to lose it in any other

The weakest soul, within itself unstablest, Leans for all pleasure on anther's breast

That in the soul which is called the mind is, before it thinks, not actually any real thing.