John Donne Quotes
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The Sestos and Abydos of her breasts Not of two lovers, but two loves the nests.
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Though Truth and Falsehood be Near twins, yet Truth a little elder is.
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The flea, though he kill none, he does all the harm he can.
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As well a well-wrought urn becomes The greatest ashes, as half-acre tombs.
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Thou'rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell; And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well And better than thy stroke.
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O my America! my new-found land.
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Who ever loves, if he do not propose The right true end of love, he's one that goes To sea for nothing but to make him sick.
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What gnashing is not a comfort, what gnawing of the worm is not a tickling, what torment is not a marriage bed to this damnation, to be secluded eternally, eternally, eternally from the sight of God?
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When one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language.
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How deepe do we dig, and for how coarse gold?
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Those set our hairs, but these our flesh upright.
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Show me, dear Christ, Thy spouse, so bright and clear.
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That subtle knot which makes us man: So must pure lovers' souls descend T' affections, and to faculties, Which sense may reach and apprehend, Else a great Prince in prison lies.
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All whom war, dearth, age, agues, tyrannies, Despair, law, chance, hath slain.
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I am a little world made cunningly Of elements, and an angelic sprite.
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Now God comes to thee, not as in the dawning of the day, not as in the bud of the spring, but as the sun at noon to illustrate all shadows, as the sheaves in harvest, to fill all penuries, all occasions invite his mercies, and all times are his seasons.
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But think that we Are but turned aside to sleep.
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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.
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When I died last, and dear, I die As often as from thee I go.
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I throw myself down in my chamber, and I call in and invite God and his angels thither, and when they are there, I neglect God and his angels, for the noise of a fly, for the rattling of a coach, for the whining of a door.
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I observe the physician with the same diligence as the disease.
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Go and catch a falling star, Get with child a mandrake root, Tell me where all past years are, Or who cleft the Devil's foot, Teach me to hear mermaids singing, Or to keep off envy's stinging, And find What wind Serves to advance an honest mind.
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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.
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It is too little to call man a little world, except God, man is a diminutive to nothing. Man consists of more pieces, more parts, than the world; than the world doth, nay, than the world is.