Quotes
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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 Donne
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy picture[s] be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou'rt slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy, or...
John Donne
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