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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.
John Donne
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John Donne
Died: 1631
Died: March 31
Lawyer
Pastor
Poet
Politician
Songwriter
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Writer
London
England
Very Rev. John Donne
Lasts
Hour
Last
Dear
Often
Eternity
Love
Died
Full
Farewell
Dies
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Though
Thee
Hours
Lovers
More quotes by John Donne
Oh do not die, for I shall hate All women so, when thou art gone.
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A man that is not afraid of a Lion is afraid of a Cat .
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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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But think that we Are but turned aside to sleep.
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No man is an island, entire of itself every man is a piece of the continent.
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If ever any beauty I did see, Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of 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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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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That which attempts to elevate the ugly to the level of beauty becomes neither but an obscenity.
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Full nakedness! All my joys are due to thee, as souls unbodied, bodies unclothed must be, to taste whole joys.
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And what is so intricate, so entangling as death? Who ever got out of a winding sheet?
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O Lord, never suffer us to think that we can stand by ourselves, and not need thee.
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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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But I do nothing upon myself, and yet I am my own executioner.
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How many times go we to comedies, to masques, to places of great and noble resort, nay even to church only to see the company.
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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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Nothing but man of all envenomed things, doth work upon itself, with inborn stings.
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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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God is so omnipresent. . . . God is an angel in an angel, and a stone in a stone, and a straw in a straw.
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As God loves a cheerful giver, so he also loves a cheerful taker. Who takes hold of his gifts with a glad heart.
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