Quotes from John Donne

To be no part of any body, is to be nothing.

Death be not proud, though some have called thee mighty and dreadful, for, thou art not so.

Love is a growing, or full constant light, And his first minute, after noon, is night.

At one blood labors to beget, Spirits as like as it can, Because such figures need to knit, that subtle knot which makes us man.

TIS the year's midnight, and it is the day's, Lucy's, who scarce seven hours herself unmasks ; The sun is spent, and now his flasks Send forth light squibs, no constant rays ; The world's whole sap is sunk ; The general balm th' hydroptic earth hath drunk, Whither, as to the bed's-feet, life is shrunk, Dead and interr'd ; yet all these seem to laugh, Compared with me, who am their epitaph.

Grief brought to numbers cannot be so fierce, For, he tames it, that fetters it in verse.

If they be so two, they are two so As stiff twin compasses are two, Thy soul the fixed foot, makes no show To move, but doth, if th' other do. And though it in the centre sit, Yet when the other dar doth roam, It leans, and hearkens after it, And grows erect, as that comes home. Such wilt thou be to me, who must Like the other foot, obliquely run; Thy firmness makes my circle just, And makes me end, where I begun.

On a huge hill, Cragged and steep, Truth stands, and hee that will Reach her, about must, and about must goe; And what the hills suddenness resists, winne so; Yet strive so, that before age, deaths twilight, Thy Soule rest, for none can worke in that night.

Thy firmness makes my circle just, and makes me end where I begun.

O how feeble is man's power, That if good fortune fall, Cannot add another hour, Nor a lost hour recall! But come bad chance, And we join to'it our strength, And we teach it art and length, Itself o'er us to'advance.

Out of a fired ship, which by no way But drowning could be rescued from the flame, Some men leap'd forth, and ever as they came Near the foes' ships, did by their shot decay; So all were lost, which in the ship were found, They in the sea being burnt, they in the burnt ship drown'd.

Let us love nobly, and live, and add again Years and years unto years, till we attain To write threescore: this is the second of our reign Love was as subtly catched, 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

That our affections kill us not, nor dye.

I long to talk with some old lover's ghost Who died before the god of Love was born.

Poor heretics there be, Which think to establish dangerous constancy, But I have told them, 'Since you will be true, You shall be true to them, who are false to you.

BUSY old fool, unruly Sun, Why dost thou thus, Through windows, and through curtains, call on us? Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run ? Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide Late school-boys and sour prentices, Go tell court-huntsmen that the king will ride, Call country ants to harvest offices ; Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime, Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.

BUSY old fool, unruly Sun, Why dost thou thus, Through windows, and through curtains, call on us?

For this, Love is enraged with me; Yet kills not. If I must example be To future rebels, if the unborn Must learn by my being cut up and torn, Kill and dissect me, Love; for this Torture against thine own end is: Racked carcasses make ill anatomies

but come bad chance And wee joyne to it our strength And wee teach it art and length It selfe o'er us to advance.

Stay, O sweet, and do not rise; The light that shines comes from thine eyes; The day breaks not, it is my heart, Because that you and I must part.

All measure, and all language, I should pass, Should I tell what a miracle she was.

Thy sins and hairs may no man equal call, for as thy sins increase, thy hairs do fall.

She is all states, and all princes, I. Nothing else is.

when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated; God employs several translators; some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice; but God's hand is in every translation, and his hand shall bind up all our scattered leaves again, for that library where every book shall lie open to one another;