No man is an island,
Entire of Itself;
Every man is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less,
As well as if a promontory were,
As well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were:
Any man's death diminishes me,
Because I am involved in mankind,
And,
Therefore,
Never send to know for whom the bells tolls;
it tolls for them.
No one is an island, everyone is the land of the mainland, and everyone is a corner of it. That's a piece of land, that's a cape, that's a manor, whether it's yours or a friend's. Once the sea washes away, Europe will become smaller. Anyone's death is my reduction. As a member of human beings, I am old with creatures. For whom the bell is ringing, I am at a loss, not for the secluded and bright forever, it is mourning for you.