The World Is A Great Volume, And

No Man Is An Island Unto Himself.

...whatever Dies Was Not Mixed Equally, If Our Two Loves Be One Or Thou And I Love So Alike That None Can Slacken, None Can Die.

Whilst My Physicians By Their Love Are Grown Cosmographers, And I Their Map, Who Lie Flat On This Bed.

This Extasie Doth Unperplex (we Said) And Tell Us What We Love, Wee See By This, It Was Not Sexe, Wee See, We Saw Not What Did Move: But As All Severall Soules Contain Mixture Of Things, They Know Not What, Love, These Mixt Souls, Doth Mixe Againe. Loves Mysteries In Soules Doe Grow, But Yet The Body Is His Booke.

Batter My Heart, Three-personed God, For You As Yet But Knock; Breathe, Shine, And Seek To Mend; That I May Rise, And Stand, O'erthrow Me, And Bend Your Force To Break, Blow, Burn, And Make Me New.