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The human soul is heavy, clumsy, held in the mud of the flesh. Its perceptions are still coarse and brutish. It can divine nothing clearly, nothing with certainty.

Words are also seeds, and when dropped into the invisible spiritual substance, they grow and bring forth after their kind.

All of nature begins to whisper its secrets to us through its sounds. Sounds that were previously incomprehensible to our soul now become the meaningful language of nature.

Of a truth, there is an inward, formless, inarticulate, almost unconscious, prayer, the very breath of love, whereby the soul is knit fast to the God whom it has tracked, amidst the tangled underwood of human life, to his covert on the eternal hills.

The 'soul' is one of the words you can use to talk about your innermost being, the essence of who you are.

All the dark, malevolent Passions of the Soul are roused and exerted; its mild and amiable affections are suppressed; and with them, virtuous Principles are laid prostrate.

To substitute Scripture for the self-revealing Spirit is to put the dead letter in the place of the living Word.

The soul shall mightily rule in all hidden secrets: but it must not let in the devil.

Soul, soul is nothing. Can you see it, smell it, touch it? No.