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Nothing but man of all envenomed things, doth work upon itself, with inborn stings.

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
Nothing
Work
Things
Stings
Men
Inborn
Doth
Guilt
Shame
Upon

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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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So, so, break off this last lamenting kiss, Which sucks two souls, and vapors both away.
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If every gnat that flies were an archangel, all that could but tell me that there is a God and the poorest worm that creeps tells me that.
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Old grandsires talk of yesterday with sorrow, And for our children we reserve tomorrow.
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Whilst my physicians by their love are grown Cosmographers, and I their map, who lie Flat on this bed.
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And swear No where Lives a woman true, and fair.
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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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This only is charity, to do all, all that we can.
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Come live with me, and be my love, And we will some new pleasures prove Of golden sands, and crystal brooks, With silken lines, and silver hooks.
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Kind pity chokes my spleen.
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The flea, though he kill none, he does all the harm he can.
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