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ask not 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
Asks
Bereavement
Death
Tolls
Congregation
Bell
Bells
Thee
Grief
Mankind

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I shall not live 'till I see God and when I have seen Him, I shall never die.
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All whom war, dearth, age, agues, tyrannies, Despair, law, chance, hath slain.
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At most, the greatest persons are but great wens, and excrescences men of wit and delightful conversation, but as morals for ornament, except they be so incorporated into the body of the world that they contribute something to the sustentation of the whole.
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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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A man that is not afraid of a Lion is afraid of a Cat .
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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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If ever any beauty I did see, Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.
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Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime, nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.
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Oh do not die, for I shall hate All women so, when thou art gone.
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Affliction is a treasure, and scarce any man hath enough of it.
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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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Pleasure is none, if not diversified.
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All other things to their destruction draw, Only our love hath no decay.
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Men are sponges, which, to pour out, receive Who know false play, rather than lose, deceive. For in best understandings sin began, Angels sinn'd first, then devils, and then man. Only perchance beasts sin not wretched we Are beasts in all but white integrity.
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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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Nothing but man of all envenomed things, doth work upon itself, with inborn stings.
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Love is a growing, or full constant light And his first minute, after noon, is night.
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When I died last, and, Dear, I die As often as from thee I go Though it be but an hour ago, And lovers' hours be full eternity.
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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.
John Donne
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My love though silly is more brave.
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