John Donne Quotes - Page 6

I have done one braver thing than all the Worthies did, and yet a braver thence doth spring, which is, to keep that hid.

Send home my long strayed eyes to me, Which (Oh) too long have dwelt on thee.

If I lose at play, I blaspheme; if my fellow loses, he blasphemes. So, God is always the loser.

To roam Giddily, and be everywhere but at home, Such freedom doth a banishment become.

Who knows his virtues name or place, hath none.

God himself took a day to rest in, and a good man's grave is his Sabbath.

The Psalms foretell what I, what any shall do and suffer and say.

Religion is not a melancholy, the spirit of God is not a damper.

Women are like the arts, forced unto none, Open to all searchers, unprized, if unknown.

The flea, though he kill none, he does all the harm he can.

Let me arrest thy thoughts, wonder with me, Why ploughing, building, ruling and the rest, Or most of those arts, whence our lives are blessed, By cursed Cain's race invented be, And blessed Seth vexed us with astronomy.

Verse hath a middle nature: heaven keeps souls, The grave keeps bodies, verse the fame enrols.

Yet nothing can to nothing fall, Nor any place be empty quite; Therefore I think my breast hath all Those pieces still, though they be not unite; And now, as broken glasses show A hundred lesser faces, so My rags of heart can like, wish, and adore, But after one such love, can love no more.

Here lies a she sun, and a he moon there; She gives the best light to his sphere; Or each is both, and all, and so They unto one another nothing owe; And yet they do, but are So just and rich in that coin which they pay, That neither would, nor needs forbear, nor stay; Neither desires to be spared nor to spare. They quickly pay their debt, and then Take no acquittances, but pay again; They pay, they give, they lend, and so let fall No such occasion to be liberal. More truth, more courage in these two do shine, Than all thy turtles have and sparrows, Valentine.

All other things to their destruction draw, Only our love hath no decay.

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.

Love is a growing, or full constant light; And his first minute, after noon, is night.

From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, Much pleasure, then from thee much more, must flow, And soonest our best men with thee do go, Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.

Busy old fool, unruly Sun, why dost thou thus through windows and through curtains call on us? Must to thy motions lovers seasons run?

Up then, fair phoenix bride, frustrate the sun; Thyself from thine affection Takest warmth enough, and from thine eye All lesser birds will take their jollity. Up, up, fair bride, and call Thy stars from out their several boxes, take Thy rubies, pearls, and diamonds forth, and make Thyself a constellation of them all; And by their blazing signify That a great princess falls, but doth not die. Be thou a new star, that to us portends Ends of much wonder; and be thou those ends.

...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.

And new Philosophy calls all in doubt, the element of fire is quite put out; the Sun is lost, and the earth, and no mans wit can well direct him where to look for it.

Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

I long to talk with some old lover's ghost, Who died before the god of love was born.

And dare love that, and say so too, And forget the He and She.