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Who ever comes to shroud me, do not harm Nor question much That subtle wreth of hair, which crowns my arm; The mystery, the sign you must not touch, For 'tis my outward soul, Viceroy to that, which then to heaven being gone, Will leave this to control, And keep these limbs, her provinces, from dissolution.
John Donne
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Be thine own palace, or the world's thy jail.
John Donne
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And dare love that, and say so too, And forget the He and She.
John Donne
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Affliction is a treasure, and scarce any man hath enough of it.
John Donne
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Hee drinkes misery, and he tastes happinesse; he mowes misery, and he gleanes happinesse; he journeys in misery, he does but walke in happinesse.
John Donne
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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.
John Donne
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She, and comparisons are odious.
John Donne
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Nature's lay idiot, I taught thee to love.
John Donne
