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Pleasure is none, if not diversified.

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
Diversified
None
Pleasure

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Affliction is a treasure, and scarce any man hath enough of it. No man hath affliction enough that is not matured and ripened by it and made fit for God.
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The sun must not set upon anger, much less will I let the sun set upon the anger of God towards me.
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Friends are ourselves.
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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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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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Let man's soul be a sphere, and then, in this, The intelligence that moves, devotion is.
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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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That thou remember them, some claim as debt I think it mercy, if thou wilt forget.
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Between these two, the denying of sins, which we have done, and the bragging of sins, which we have not done, what a space, what a compass is there, for millions of millions of sins!
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Despair is the damp of hell, as joy is the serenity of heaven.
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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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Sweetest love, I do not go, For weariness of thee, Nor in hope the world can show A fitter love for me But since that I Must die at last, 'tis best, To use my self in jest Thus by feign'd deaths to die.
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Verse hath a middle nature: heaven keeps souls, The grave keeps bodies, verse the fame enrols.
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Kind pity chokes my spleen.
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At the round earth's imagined corners, blow Your trumpets, angels, and arise, arise From death, you numberless infinities Of souls **** All whom war, dearth, age, agues, tyrannies, Despair, law, chance, hath slain.
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Love's mysteries in souls do grow, But yet the body is his book.
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I am two fools, I know, For loving, and for saying so.
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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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There is no health physicians say that we, at best, enjoy but neutrality.
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We love and understand talent we wish it be within us. The truly gifted, those exceptional few, must wait for the world to catch up.
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