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I have done one braver thing than all the Worthies did, and yet a braver thence doth spring, which is, to keep that hid.

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
Thing
Thence
Braver
Doth
Bravery
Spring
Keep
Done

More quotes by John Donne

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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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As states subsist in part by keeping their weaknesses from being known, so is it the quiet of families to have their chancery and their parliament within doors, and to compose and determine all emergent differences there.
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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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I am a little world made cunningly.
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Who are a little wise the best fools be.
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That soul that can reflect upon itself, consider itself, is more than so.
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All other things to their destruction draw, Only our love hath no decay.
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If they be two, they are two so As stiff twin compasses are two, Thy soul the fixt foot, makes no show To move, but doth, if the other do.
John Donne
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At the round earth's imagined corners, blow Your trumpets, angels, and arise, arise From death, you numberless infinities Of souls **** All whom war, dearth, age, agues, tyrannies, Despair, law, chance, hath slain.
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No man is an island, entire of itself every man is a piece of the continent.
John Donne
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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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The Phoenix riddle hath more wit By us, we two being one, are it. So to one neutral thing both sexes fit, We die and rise the same, and prove Mysterious by this love.
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Be more than man, or thou'rt less than an ant.
John Donne
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Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
John Donne
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Since you would save none of me, I bury some of you.
John Donne
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That thou remember them, some claim as debt I think it mercy, if thou wilt forget.
John Donne
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'Tis the year's midnight, and it is the day's.
John Donne
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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.
John Donne
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Nothing but man of all envenomed things, doth work upon itself, with inborn stings.
John Donne
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Kind pity chokes my spleen.
John Donne