And now good morrow to our waking souls, Which watch not one another out of fear; For love, all love of other sights controls, And makes one little room, an everywhere. Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone, Let maps… — John Donne Copy Share Image
Our critical day is not the very day of our death; but the whole course of our life. — John Donne Copy Share Image
All mankind is of one author, and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but… — John Donne Copy Share Image
We study health, and we deliberate upon our meats and drink and air and exercises, and we hew and we polish every stone that… — John Donne Copy Share Image
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… — John Donne Copy Share Image
Various content To your eyes, ears, and tongue, and every part. If then your body go, what need you a heart? — John Donne Copy Share Image
“Batter my heart, three-person'd God ; for you As yet but knock ; breathe, shine, and seek to mend ; That I may rise,… — John Donne Copy Share Image
That which attempts to elevate the ugly to the level of beauty becomes neither; but an obscenity. — John Donne Copy Share Image
For I am every dead thing In whom love wrought new alchemy For his art did express A quintessence even from nothingness, From dull… — John Donne Copy Share Image
As states subsist in part by keeping their weaknesses from being known, so is it the quiet of families to have their chancery and… — John Donne Copy Share Image
All Kings, and all their favorites, All glory of honors, beauties, wits, The sun itself, which makes times, as they pass, Is elder by… — John Donne Copy Share Image
On a huge hill, Cragged, and steep, Truth stands, and hee that will Reach her, about must, and about must goo. — John Donne Copy Share Image
How many times go we to comedies, to masques, to places of great and noble resort, nay even to church only to see the… — John Donne Copy Share Image
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, And poppy, or charms, can make… — John Donne Copy Share Image
