No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent.
Goe and catche a falling starre, Get with child a mandrake root, Tell me, where all past yeares are, Or who cleft the Divel's foot. Teach me to hear Mermaides' singing, Or to keep of envies stinging, And finde What winde Serves to advance an honest minde.
To be no part of any body, is to be nothing.
Send home my long strayed eyes to me, Which (Oh) too long have dwelt on thee.
All our life is but a going out to the place of execution, to death.
I am a little world made cunningly.