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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
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Poet
Politician
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London
England
Very Rev. John Donne
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More quotes by John Donne

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And what is so intricate, so entangling as death? Who ever got out of a winding sheet?
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This only is charity, to do all, all that we can.
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My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears, And true plain hearts do in the faces rest Where can we find two better hemispheres, Without sharp north, without declining west? Whatever dies, was not mix'd equally If our two loves be one, or, thou and I Love so alike, that none do slacken, none can die.
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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.
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Commemoration of Pandita Mary Ramabai, Translator of the Scriptures, 1922 A memory of yesterday's pleasures, a fear of tomorrow's dangers, a straw under my knees, a noise in my ear, a light in my eye, an anything, a nothing, a fancy, a chimera in my brain, troubles me in my prayers.
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I am a little world made cunningly.
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Nature's lay idiot, I taught thee to love.
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Love's mysteries in souls do grow, But yet the body is his book.
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I count all that part of my life lost which I spent not in communion with God, or in doing good.
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And if there be any addition to knowledge, it is rather a new knowledge than a greater knowledge rather a singularity in a desire of proposing something that was not knownat all beforethananimproving, anadvancing, a multiplying of former inceptions and by that means, no knowledge comes to be perfect.
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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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The flea, though he kill none, he does all the harm he can.
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I am two fools, I know, For loving, and for saying so.
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No man is an island, entire of itself every man is a piece of the continent.
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As God loves a cheerful giver, so he also loves a cheerful taker. Who takes hold of his gifts with a glad heart.
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Affliction is a treasure, and scarce any man hath enough of it.
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At the round earth's imagined corners, blow Your trumpets, angels, and arise, arise From death, you numberless infinities Of souls **** All whom war, dearth, age, agues, tyrannies, Despair, law, chance, hath slain.
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Despair is the damp of hell, as joy is the serenity of heaven.
John Donne
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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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Commemoration of Richard Meux Benson, Founder of the Society of St John the Evangelist, 1915 Our critical day is not the very day of our death, but the whole course of our life I thank him, that prays for me when my bell tolls but I thank him much more, that catechizes me, or preaches to me, or instructs me how to live.
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