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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
Shame
Upon
Nothing
Work
Things
Stings
Men
Inborn
Doth
Guilt

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When one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language.
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Festive alcohol sometimes leads to an excess of honesty.
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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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To rage, to lust, to write to, to commend, All is the purlieu of the god of love.
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Death, thou shalt die.
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God made sun and moon to distinguish the seasons, and day and night and we cannot have the fruits of the earth but in their seasons. But God hath made no decrees to distinguish the seasons of His mercies. In Paradise the fruits were ripe the first minute, and in heaven it is always autumn. His mercies are ever in their maturity.
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Great sorrows cannot speak.
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Nature hath no goal though she hath law.
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Despair is the damp of hell, as joy is the serenity of heaven.
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Humiliation is the beginning of sanctification.
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Love's mysteries in souls do grow, But yet the body is his book.
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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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I throw myself down in my chamber, and I call in, and invite God, and his Angels thither, and when they are there, I neglect God and his Angels, for the noise of a fly, for the rattling of a coach, for the whining of a door.
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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.
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Never start with tomorrow to reach eternity. Eternity is not being reached by small steps.
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What gnashing is not a comfort, what gnawing of the worm is not a tickling, what torment is not a marriage bed to this damnation, to be secluded eternally, eternally, eternally from the sight of God?
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In heaven it is always autumn.
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As virtuous men pass mildly away, and whisper to their souls to go, whilst some of their sad friends do say, the breath goes now, and some say no.
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Lust-bred diseases rot thee.
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That thou remember them, some claim as debt I think it mercy, if thou wilt forget.
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