John Donne Quotes
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For God's sake hold your tongue, and let me love.
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To rage, to lust, to write to, to commend, All is the purlieu of the god of love.
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But he who loveliness within Hath found, all outward loathes, For he who color loves, and skin, Loves but their oldest clothes.
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God employs several translators; some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice.
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Busy old fool, unruly Sun, why dost thou thus through windows and through curtains call on us? Must to thy motions lovers seasons run?
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If they be two, they are two so As stiff twin compasses are two, Thy soul the fixt foot, makes no show To move, but doth, if the other do.
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Love built on beauty, soon as beauty, dies.
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Age is a sicknesse, and Youth is an ambush.
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Send home my long strayed eyes to me, Which (Oh) too long have dwelt on thee.
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For I am every dead thing, In whom love wrought new alchemy. For his art did express A quintessence even from nothingness, From dull privations, and lean emptiness He ruined me, and I am re-begot Of absence, darkness, death; things which are not.
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Man, who is the noblest part of the earth, melts so away as if he were a statue, not of earth, but of snow.
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Love's mysteries in souls do grow, But yet the body is his book.
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She is all states, and all princes, I, Nothing else is.
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Yesternight the sun went hence, And yet is here today.
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Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime, nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.
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We understood Her by her sight; her pure, and eloquent blood Spoke in her cheeks, and so distinctly wrought, That one might almost say, her body thought.
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When God's hand is bent to strike, it is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God; but to fall out of the hands of the living God is a horror beyond our expression, beyond our imagination.
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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.
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I long to talk with some old lover's ghost, Who died before the god of love was born.
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Be thine own palace, or the world's thy jail.
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So, so, break off this last lamenting kiss, Which sucks two souls, and vapors both away.
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If poisonous minerals, and if that tree, Whose fruit threw death on else immortal us, If lecherous goats, if serpents envious Cannot be damned; alas; why should I be?
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Affliction is a treasure, and scarce any man hath enough of it.
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As virtuous men pass mildly away, and whisper to their souls to go, whilst some of their sad friends do say, the breath goes now, and some say no.