John Donne Quotes about Love

More than kisses, letters mingle souls.

Come live with me, and be my love, And we will some new pleasures prove Of golden sands, and crystal brooks, With silken lines, and silver hooks.

I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I Did, till we lov'd?

I am two fools, I know, For loving, and for saying so.

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

Love was as subtly caught, as a disease; But being got it is a treasure sweet, which to defend is harder than to get: And ought not be profaned on either part, for though 'Tis got by chance, 'Tis kept by art.

Love's mysteries in souls do grow, But yet the body is his book.

Only our love hath no decay; this, no tomorrow hath, nor yesterday, running it never runs from us away, but truly keeps his first, last, everlasting day.

I do not love a man, except I hate his vices, because those vices are the enemies, and the destruction of that friend whom I love.

Love built on beauty, soon as beauty, dies.

But he who loveliness within Hath found, all outward loathes, For he who color loves, and skin, Loves but their oldest clothes.

Love is strong as death; but nothing else is as strong as either; and both, love and death, met in Christ. How strong and powerful upon you, then, should that instruction be, that comes to you from both these, the love and death of Jesus Christ!

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.

For God's sake hold your tongue, and let me love.

Without outward declarations, who can conclude an inward love?

Sweetest love, I do not go, For weariness of thee, Nor in hope the world can show A fitter love for me; But since that I Must die at last, 'tis best, To use my self in jest Thus by feign'd deaths to die.

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

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

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.

Nature's lay idiot, I taught thee to love.

Twice or thrice had I loved thee before I knew thy face or name, so in a voice, so in a shapeless flame, angels affect us oft, and worshiped be.

We can die by it, if not live by love, And if unfit for tombs and hearse Our legend be, it will be fit for verse; And if no peace of chronicle we prove, We'll build in sonnet pretty rooms; As well a well wrought urne becomes The greatest ashes, as half-acre tombs.

Whoever loves, if he do not propose The right true end of love, he's one that goes To sea for nothing but to make him sick.

True and false fears let us refrain, 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.