because the best stories are our own
Home: Bombay:
Muharram
Meditation 17
No man is an Iland, intire of it selfe; every man is a piece of the Continent, a part of the maine; if a Clod bee washed away by the Sea, Europe is the lesse, as well as if a Promontorie were, as well as if a Manor of thy friends or of thine owne were; any mans death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankinde; And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee
Nunc lento sonitu dicunt, morieris
Now this bell tolling softly for another, says to me, Thou must die
John Donne
© 2001–2008 p i n a k i