John Donne Quotes
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When one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language.
By John Donne
Thou hast made me, and shall thy work decay? Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste;...
By John Donne
This is my playes last scene, here heavens appoint My pilgrimages last mile; and my race...
By John Donne
Sweare by thy selfe, that at my death thy Sonne Shall shine as he shines now, and heretofore;...
By John Donne
So all were lost, which in the ship were found, They in the sea being burnt, they in the burnt ship drown'd.
By John Donne
One short sleep past, we wake eternally, And Death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die!
By John Donne
I would not that death should take me asleep. I would not have him meerly seise me, and onely declare me to be dead, but win me, and overcome ...
By John Donne
God employs several translators; some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice.
By John Donne
Whenever any affliction assails me, I have the keys of my prison in mine own hand, and no remedy presents it selfe so soone to my heart, as mine own sword. Often meditation of this hath wonne me to a charitable interpretation of their action, who dy so: and provoked me a little to watch and exagitate their reasons, which pronounce so peremptory judgments upon them.
By John Donne
Men are sponges, which, to pour out, receive; Who know false play, rather than lose, deceive. For in best understandings sin began, Angels sinn'd first, then devils, and then man. Only perchance beasts sin not ; wretched we Are beasts in all but white integrity.
By John Donne
Let me arrest thy thoughts; wonder with me, why plowing, building, ruling and the rest, or most of those arts, whence our lives are blest, by cursed Cain's race invented be, and blest Seth vexed us with Astronomy.
By John Donne
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.
By John Donne
We are all conceived in close prison; in our mothers wombs, we are close prisoners all; when we are born, we are born but to the liberty of the house; prisoners still, though within larger walls; and then all our life is but a going out to the place of execution, to death.
By John Donne
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.
By John Donne
Full nakedness! All my joys are due to thee, as souls unbodied, bodies unclothed must be, to taste whole joys.
By John Donne
Busy old fool, unruly Sun, why dost thou thus through windows and through curtains call on us? Must to thy motions lovers seasons run?
By John Donne
Come live with me, and be my love,And we will some new pleasures proveOf golden sands, and crystal brooks,With silken lines, and silver hooks.
By John Donne
Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime, nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.
By John Donne
When I died last, and, Dear, I die as often as from thee I go though it be but an hour ago and lovers hours be full eternity.
By John Donne
Take me to you, imprison me, for I, except you enthrall me, never shall be free, nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.
By John Donne
All mankind is of one author, and is one volume; 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...As therefore the bell that rings to a sermon, calls not upon the preacher only, but upon the congregation to come: so this bell calls us all: but how much more me, who am brought so near the door by this sickness....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 promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's 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.
By John Donne