John Donne

Love built on beauty, soon as beauty, dies.

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

More than kisses, letters mingle souls.

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

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

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.

Love is agrowing, to full constant light; and his first minute, after noon, is night.