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Who are a little wise the best fools be.

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
Fool
Wise
Littles
Best
Little
Fools
Intelligence
Intellectual

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Without outward declarations, who can conclude an inward love?
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Kind pity chokes my spleen.
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My love though silly is more brave.
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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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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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God employs several translators some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice.
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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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'Tis the year's midnight, and it is the day's.
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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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Death comes equally to us all, and makes us all equal when it comes.
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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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All other things to their destruction draw, Only our love hath no decay.
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That thou remember them, some claim as debt I think it mercy, if thou wilt forget.
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Great sorrows cannot speak.
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O how feeble is man's power, that if good fortune fall, cannot add another hour, nor a lost hour recall!
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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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When my mouth shall be filled with dust, and the worm shall feed, and feed sweetly upon me, when the ambitious man shall have no satisfaction if the poorest alive tread upon him, nor the poorest receive any contentment in being made equal to princes, for they shall be equal but in dust.
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Let me arrest thy thoughts, wonder with me, Why ploughing, building, ruling and the rest, Or most of those arts, whence our lives are blessed, By cursed Cain's race invented be, And blessed Seth vexed us with astronomy.
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But I do nothing upon myself, and yet I am my own executioner.
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The flea, though he kill none, he does all the harm he can.
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