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At the round earth's imagined corners, blow your trumpets, angels.

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
Round
Rounds
Corners
Blow
Angel
Earth
Trumpets
Imagined
Angels

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If we consider eternity, into that time never entered eternity is not an everlasting flux of time, but time is as a short parenthesis in a long period and eternity had been the same as it is, though time had never been.
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Friends are ourselves.
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The distance from nothing to a little, is ten thousand times more, than from it to the highest degree in this life.
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And when a whirl-winde hath blowne the dust of the Churchyard into the Church, and man sweeps out the dust of the Church into the Church-yard, who will undertake to sift those dusts again, and to pronounce, This is the Patrician, this is the noble flower, and this the yeomanly, this the Plebian bran.
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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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Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankind And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls it tolls for thee.
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Death comes equally to us all, and makes us all equal when it comes.
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Poor intricated soul! Riddling, perplexed, labyrinthical soul!
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...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.
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Without outward declarations, who can conclude an inward love?
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I would not that death should take me asleep. I would not have him merely seize me, and only declare me to be dead, but win me, and overcome me. When I must shipwreck, I would do it in a sea, where mine impotency might have some excuse not in a sullen weedy lake, where I could not have so much as exercise for my swimming.
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Busy old fool, unruly Sun, why dost thou thus through windows and through curtains call on us? Must to thy motions lovers seasons run?
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Sleep with clean hands, either kept clean all day by integrity or washed clean at night by repentance.
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Oft from new truths, and new phrase, new doubts grow, As strange attire aliens the men we know.
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Lust-bred diseases rot thee.
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No man is an island, entire of itself every man is a piece of the continent.
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I count all that part of my life lost which I spent not in communion with God, or in doing good.
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My world's both parts, and 'o! Both parts must die.
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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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The difference between the reason of man and the instinct of the beast is this, that the beast does but know, but the man knows that he knows.
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