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Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime, nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.

John Donne

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John Donne
Died: 1631
Died: March 31
Lawyer
Pastor
Poet
Politician
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Writer
London
England
Very Rev. John Donne
Season
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Months
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Clime
Time
Pedantic
Love
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More quotes by John Donne

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This Extasie doth unperplex (We said) and tell us what we love, Wee see by this, it was not sexe, Wee see, we saw not what did move: But as all severall soules contain Mixture of things, they know not what, Love, these mixt souls, doth mixe againe. Loves mysteries in soules doe grow, But yet the body is his booke.
John Donne
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Send home my long strayed eyes to me, Which (Oh) too long have dwelt on thee.
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...Whatever dies was not mixed equally, If our two loves be one Or thou and I love so alike That none can slacken, none can die.
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Oft from new truths, and new phrase, new doubts grow, As strange attire aliens the men we know.
John Donne
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'Tis the year's midnight, and it is the day's.
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Great sorrows cannot speak.
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Whilst my physicians by their love are grown Cosmographers, and I their map, who lie Flat on this bed.
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ask not for whom the bell tolls it tolls for thee
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Festive alcohol sometimes leads to an excess of honesty.
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Friends are ourselves.
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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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Tis true, 'tis day what though it be? O wilt thou therefore rise from me? Why should we rise, because 'tis light? Did we lie down, because 'twas night? Love which in spite of darkness brought us hither Should in despite of light keep us together.
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As he that fears God fears nothing else, so he that sees God sees everything else.
John Donne
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But think that we Are but turned aside to sleep.
John Donne
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If ever any beauty I did see, Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.
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. . . Change is the nursery Of musicke, joy, life and eternity.
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Licence my roving hands, and let them go Before, behind, between, above, below.
John Donne
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I shall not live 'till I see God and when I have seen Him, I shall never die.
John Donne
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Be more than man, or thou'rt less than an ant.
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The Phoenix riddle hath more wit By us, we two being one, are it. So to one neutral thing both sexes fit, We die and rise the same, and prove Mysterious by this love.
John Donne