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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.

John Donne

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John Donne
Died: 1631
Died: March 31
Lawyer
Pastor
Poet
Politician
Songwriter
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Writer
London
England
Very Rev. John Donne
Culture
Send
Diminishes
Death
Diversity
Tolls
Never
Thee
Interdependence
Men
Grief
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Therefore
Bell
Mankind
Diminish
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Verse hath a middle nature: heaven keeps souls, The grave keeps bodies, verse the fame enrols.
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That which attempts to elevate the ugly to the level of beauty becomes neither but an obscenity.
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Enjoyment always has a spoiling, otherwise it cannot be so.
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One short sleep past, we wake eternally, And Death shall be no more Death, thou shalt die.
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To an incompetent judge I must not lie, but I may be silent to a competent I must answer.
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Sleep with clean hands, either kept clean all day by integrity or washed clean at night by repentance.
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We can die by it, if not live by love, And if unfit for tombs and hearse Our legend be, it will be fit for verse And if no peace of chronicle we prove, We'll build in sonnet pretty rooms As well a well wrought urne becomes The greatest ashes, as half-acre tombs.
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Without outward declarations, who can conclude an inward love?
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Despair is the damp of hell, as joy is the serenity of heaven.
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Nature's lay idiot, I taught thee to love.
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As God loves a cheerful giver, so he also loves a cheerful taker. Who takes hold of his gifts with a glad heart.
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What gnashing is not a comfort, what gnawing of the worm is not a tickling, what torment is not a marriage bed to this damnation, to be secluded eternally, eternally, eternally from the sight of God?
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O Lord, never suffer us to think that we can stand by ourselves, and not need thee.
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There is hook in every benefit, that sticks in his jaws that takes that benefit, and draws him whither the benefactor will.
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That subtle knot which makes us man So must pure lovers souls descend T affections, and to faculties, Which sense may reach and apprehend, Else a great Prince in prison lies.
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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.
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Let me arrest thy thoughts, wonder with me, Why ploughing, building, ruling and the rest, Or most of those arts, whence our lives are blessed, By cursed Cain's race invented be, And blessed Seth vexed us with astronomy.
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Keep us, Lord, so awake in the duties of our calling that we may sleep in thy peace and wake in thy glory.
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And what is so intricate, so entangling as death? Who ever got out of a winding sheet?
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