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

John Donne

A man that is not afraid of a Lion is afraid of a Cat .
JOHN DONNE

Afraid Animal Fear Man
How imperfect is all our knowledge!
JOHN DONNE

Knowledge Ourselves Perfection
No man is an island unto himself.
JOHN DONNE

Himself Island Man
If I dream I have you, I have you, for all our joys are but fantastical.
JOHN DONNE

Dreams Fantasy God Joy Myself Relationship
How great love is, presence best trial makes, But absence tries how long this love will be.
JOHN DONNE

Absence Greatness Love Presence
So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame, Angels affect us often.
JOHN DONNE

Affect Angel Flame Voice
Sleep with clean hands, either kept clean all day by integrity or washed clean at night by repentance.
JOHN DONNE

Cleaning Hands Integrity Night Regret
One short sleep past, we wake eternally, And Death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
JOHN DONNE

Death Forever Past Short Sleep Wake Up
If we consider eternity, into that time never entered; eternity is not an everlasting flux of time, but time is as a short parenthesis in a long period; and eternity had been the same as it is, though time had never been.
JOHN DONNE

Forever Parents Short Time
Full nakedness! All my joys are due to thee, as souls unbodied, bodies unclothed must be, to taste whole joys.
JOHN DONNE

Body Clothes Joy Naked Soul Taste
I shall not live ’till I see God; and when I have seen Him, I shall never die.
JOHN DONNE

Death God Live Myself See
Doth not a man die even in his birth? The breaking of prison is death, and what is our birth, but a breaking of prison?
JOHN DONNE

Born Break Death Deep Man Ourselves Prison Spiritual
Poetry is a counterfeit creation, and makes things that are not, as though they were.
JOHN DONNE

Art Build Creation Poetry
Without outward declarations, who can conclude an inward love?
JOHN DONNE

Declaration Love
Who are a little wise the best fools be.
JOHN DONNE

Best Fools One Liner Wisdom
No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent.
JOHN DONNE

Continent Man Piece

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

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

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