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This is joy's bonfire, then, where love's strong arts Make of so noble individual parts One fire of four inflaming eyes, and of two loving hearts.
John Donne
I fix mine eye on thine, and there Pity my picture burning in thine eye...
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.
To be no part of any body, is to be nothing.
Nature's great masterpiece, an elephant; the only harmless great thing.
No man is an island, entire of itself.
And to 'scape stormy days, I choose an everlasting night.
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.
Love's mysteries in souls do grow, But yet the body is his book.
That soul that can reflect upon itself, consider itself, is more than so.
Other men's crosses are not my crosses.
I am a little world made cunningly.
Sir, more than kisses, letters mingle souls; For, thus friends absent speak.
Never send to know for whom the bells tolls; it tolls for thee.
Then love is sin, and let me sinful be.
Reason is our soul's left hand, Faith her right, By these we reach divinity
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.
In Heaven, it is always Autumn".
I did best when I had least truth for my subjects.
Batter my heart, three-person'd God; for, you As yet but knocke, breathe, shine, and seeke to mend; That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow mee, 'and bend Your force, to breake, blowe, burn and make me new.
Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime, nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.
If ever any beauty I did see, Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.
That thou remember them, some claim as debt; I think it mercy, if thou wilt forget.
If our two loves be one, or, thou and I Love so alike, that none do slacken, none can die.
Be thine own palace, or the world's thy jail.
No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face." [The Autumnal]
I am two fools, I know, For loving, and for saying so.
And who understands? Not me, because if I did I would forgive it all.
More than kisses, letters mingle souls.
To know and feel all this and not have the words to express it makes a human a grave of his own thoughts.
Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bells tolls; it tolls for thee.
Death is an ascension to a better library.
Licence my roving hands, and let them go Before, behind, between, above, below.
Love, built on beauty, soon as beauty, dies.