Quotes from John Donne

Who ever loves, if he do not proposeThe right true end of love, he's one that goesTo sea for nothing but to make him sick.

And dare love that, and say so too,And forget the He and She.

Take heed of loving me.

If I lose at play, I blaspheme; if my fellow loses, he blasphemes. So, God is always the loser.

Those set our hairs, but these our flesh upright.

At the round earth's imagin'd corners, blowYour trumpets, angels, and arise, ariseFrom death, you numberless infinitiesOf souls.

A bracelet of bright hair about the bone.

Batter my heart, three-person'd God; for youAs yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend.

Our soules, (which to advance their state, Were gone out,) hung 'twixt her, and mee.... When love, with one another so Interinanimates two soules.... Loves mysteries in soules doe grow, But yet the body is his booke....

Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men.

But think that weAre but turn'd aside to sleep.

Oh do not die, for I shall hateAll women so, when thou art gone.

As he that fears God hears nothing else, so, he that sees God sees every thing else.

But I do nothing upon myself, and yet I am my own executioner.

Death comes equally to us all, and makes us all equal when it comes.

Duplicated: Love was as subtly caught, as a disease; ... (Repeated twice)

He must pull out his own eyes, and see no creature, before he can say, he sees no God; He must be no man, and quench his reasonable soul, before he can say to himself, there is no God.

Love all love of other sights controls, And makes one little room an everywhere.

Love was as subtly caught, as a disease; But being got it is a treasure sweet, which to defend is harder than to get: And ought not be profaned on either part, for though 'Tis got by chance, 'Tis kept by art.

Men have conceived a twofold use of sleep; it is a refreshing of the body in this life, and a preparing of the soul for the next.

No man is an Island, entire of itself every man is a piece of the Continent, a part of the main if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friends or of thine own were any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankind And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls It tolls for thee.

No man is an island, entire of itself every man is a piece of the continent.

Perchance, he for whom this bell tolls may be so ill, as that he knows not it tolls for him...

Twice or thrice had I loved thee, Before I knew thy face or name.