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I am two fools, I know, For loving, and for saying so.

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
Fools
Loving
Fool
Saying
Two
Love
Whining
Foolishness

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I wonder by my troth, what thou, and I Did, till we loved? were we not weaned till then? But sucked on country pleasures, childishly? Or snorted we in the seven sleepers' den?
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And swear No where Lives a woman true, and fair.
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Never start with tomorrow to reach eternity. Eternity is not being reached by small steps.
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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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Tis true, 'tis day what though it be? O wilt thou therefore rise from me? Why should we rise, because 'tis light? Did we lie down, because 'twas night? Love which in spite of darkness brought us hither Should in despite of light keep us together.
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As states subsist in part by keeping their weaknesses from being known, so is it the quiet of families to have their chancery and their parliament within doors, and to compose and determine all emergent differences there.
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Take me to you, imprison me, for I, except you enthrall me, never shall be free, nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.
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Death comes equally to us all, and makes us all equal when it comes.
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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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Eternity is not an everlasting flux of time, but time is as a short parenthesis in a long period.
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This only is charity, to do all, all that we can.
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Commemoration of Pandita Mary Ramabai, Translator of the Scriptures, 1922 A memory of yesterday's pleasures, a fear of tomorrow's dangers, a straw under my knees, a noise in my ear, a light in my eye, an anything, a nothing, a fancy, a chimera in my brain, troubles me in my prayers.
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The day breaks not, it is my heart.
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Can there be worse sickness, than to know that we are never well, nor can be so?
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Old grandsires talk of yesterday with sorrow, And for our children we reserve tomorrow.
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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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Love's mysteries in souls do grow, But yet the body is his book.
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Festive alcohol sometimes leads to an excess of honesty.
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Religion is not a melancholy, the spirit of God is not a damper.
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When God's hand is bent to strike, it is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God but to fall out of the hands of the living God is a horror beyond our expression, beyond our imagination.
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