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

John Donne

To know and feel all this and not have the words to express it makes a human a grave of his own thoughts.
JOHN DONNE

Expression Feeling Grave Human Thinking Word
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.
JOHN DONNE

Gold Hands Happiness Live Love Silver
Art is the most passionate orgy within man’s grasp.
JOHN DONNE

Art Compassionate Hold Man
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
As he that fears God fears nothing else, so he that sees God sees everything else.
JOHN DONNE

Fear God Himself See
We give each other a smile with a future in it.
JOHN DONNE

Each Other Future One Liner
Nature’s great masterpiece, an elephant; the only harmless great thing.
JOHN DONNE

Greatness Nature Pieces
Without outward declarations, who can conclude an inward love?
JOHN DONNE

Declaration Love
Solitude is a torment which is not threatened in hell itself.
JOHN DONNE

Hell Solitude Threat
True joy is the earnest which we have of heaven, it is the treasure of the soul, and therefore should be laid in a safe place, and nothing in this world is safe to place it in.
JOHN DONNE

Heaven Joy Place Safety True World
In heaven it is always autumn.
JOHN DONNE

Autumn Heaven Season
How great love is, presence best trial makes, But absence tries how long this love will be.
JOHN DONNE

Absence Greatness Love Presence
If I dream I have you, I have you, for all our joys are but fantastical.
JOHN DONNE

Dreams Fantasy God Joy Myself Relationship
What if this present were the world’s last night?
JOHN DONNE

End Night Present World
For love all love of other sights controls and makes one little room an everywhere.
JOHN DONNE

Control Love Oneself Room

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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