Quote

...Whatever dies was not mixed equally, If our two loves be one Or thou and I love so alike That none can slacken, none can die.

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
Love
Alike
Equally
Thou
Loves
None
Dies
Whatever
Slacken
Two
Mixed

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The rich have no more of the kingdom of heaven than they have purchased of the poor by their alms.
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All whom war, dearth, age, agues, tyrannies, Despair, law, chance, hath slain.
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There is nothing that God hath established in a constant course of nature, and which therefore is done every day, but would seem a Miracle, and exercise our admiration, if it were done but once.
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Licence my roving hands, and let them go Before, behind, between, above, below.
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Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
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Old grandsires talk of yesterday with sorrow, And for our children we reserve tomorrow.
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Death comes equally to us all, and makes us all equal when it comes.
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There is no health physicians say that we, at best, enjoy but neutrality.
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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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If poisonous minerals, and if that tree, Whose fruit threw death on else immortal us, If lecherous goats, if serpents envious Cannot be damned alas why should I be?
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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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Send home my long strayed eyes to me, Which (Oh) too long have dwelt on thee.
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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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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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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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O how feeble is man's power, that if good fortune fall, cannot add another hour, nor a lost hour recall!
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Never start with tomorrow to reach eternity. Eternity is not being reached by small steps.
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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.
John Donne
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Poor intricated soul! Riddling, perplexed, labyrinthical soul!
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Commemoration of Richard Meux Benson, Founder of the Society of St John the Evangelist, 1915 Our critical day is not the very day of our death, but the whole course of our life I thank him, that prays for me when my bell tolls but I thank him much more, that catechizes me, or preaches to me, or instructs me how to live.
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