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.
John DonneGreat sins are great possessions; but levities and vanities possess us too; and men had rather part with Christ than with any possession.
John DonneDoubt wisely; in strange way To stand inquiring right, is not to stray; To sleep, or run wrong, is.
John DonneLove, all alike, no season knows, nor clime, nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.
John DonneWho ever comes to shroud me, do not harm Nor question much That subtle wreath of hair, which crowns my arm; The mystery, the sign you must not touch, For 'tis my outward soul, Viceroy to that, which then to heaven being gone, Will leave this to control, And keep these limbs, her provinces, from dissolution.
John Donne