No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face.

When one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language.

Be thine own palace, or the world's thy jail.

The day breaks not, it is my heart.

But I do nothing upon myself, and yet I am my own executioner.

Nature's great masterpiece, an elephant; the only harmless great thing.

Pleasure is none, if not diversified.

I observe the physician with the same diligence as the disease.

For God's sake hold your tongue, and let me love.

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.

Humiliation is the beginning of sanctification.

Busy old fool, unruly Sun, why dost thou thus through windows and through curtains call on us? Must to thy motions lovers seasons run?

Reason is our soul's left hand, faith her right.

Love built on beauty, soon as beauty, dies.

But let them sleep, Lord, and me mourn a space.

More than kisses, letters mingle souls.

God employs several translators; some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice.

No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face.

No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent.

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

Despair is the damp of hell, as joy is the serenity of heaven.

And new Philosophy calls all in doubt, the element of fire is quite put out; the Sun is lost, and the earth, and no mans wit can well direct him where to look for it.

Wicked is not much worse than indiscreet.

I am two fools, I know, for loving, and for saying so in whining poetry.

Affliction is a treasure, and scarce any man hath enough of it.

As virtuous men pass mildly away, and whisper to their souls to go, whilst some of their sad friends do say, the breath goes now, and some say no.

Art is the most passionate orgy within man's grasp.

As states subsist in part by keeping their weaknesses from being known, so is it the quiet of families to have their chancery and their parliament within doors, and to compose and determine all emergent differences there.

He must pull out his own eyes, and see no creature, before he can say, he sees no God; He must be no man, and quench his reasonable soul, before he can say to himself, there is no God.

Since you would save none of me, I bury some of you.

Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankind; And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.

Death is an ascension to a better library.

No spring nor summer's beauty hath such grace As I have seen in one Autumnal face....

No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace, As I have seen in one autumnal face.

Who vagrant transitory comets sees Wonders because theyre rare but a new star Whose motion with the firmament agrees Is miracle for there no new things are.

No man is an island entire of itself every man is a piece of the continent a part of the main.

No man is an island entire of itself every man is a piece of the continent.

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.

Any mans death diminishes me because I am involved in Mankind And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls it tolls for thee.

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

Natures great masterpiece an elephant the only harmless great thing.

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.

No spring nor summers beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one Autumnal face.

Who are a little wise the best fools be.

No man is an island, entire of itself.

To be no part of any body, is to be nothing.

Our fear of death is like our fear that summer will be short, but when we have had our swing of pleasure, our fill of fruit, and our swelter of heat, we say we have had our day.

Tears are the summer shower to the soul.

Beauty, like truth, is relative to the time when one lives and to the individual who can grasp it. The expression of beauty is in direct ratio to the power of conception the artist has acquired.