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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
Translator
Writer
London
England
Very Rev. John Donne
Involved
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Peace
Bells
Culture
Send
Diminishes
Death
Diversity
Tolls
Never
Thee
Interdependence
Men
Grief
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Therefore
Bell
Mankind
Diminish
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Nature's lay idiot, I taught thee to love.
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God himself took a day to rest in, and a good man's grave is his Sabbath.
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Man hath weaved out a net, and this net throwne upon the Heavens, and now they are his own.
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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.
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Since you would save none of me, I bury some of you.
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Enjoyment always has a spoiling, otherwise it cannot be so.
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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.
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we give each other a smile with a future in it
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Who are a little wise the best fools be.
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Great sorrows cannot speak.
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Humiliation is the beginning of sanctification.
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In the first minute that my soul is infused, the Image of God is imprinted in my soul so forward is God in my behalf, and so early does he visit me.
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My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears, And true plain hearts do in the faces rest Where can we find two better hemispheres, Without sharp north, without declining west? Whatever dies, was not mix'd equally If our two loves be one, or, thou and I Love so alike, that none do slacken, none can die.
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Love is a growing, or full constant light And his first minute, after noon, is night.
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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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In heaven it is always autumn.
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. . . Change is the nursery Of musicke, joy, life and eternity.
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To rage, to lust, to write to, to commend, All is the purlieu of the god of love.
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