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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.

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
Soul
Virtuous
Men
Breath
Breaths
Souls
Pass
Goes
Mildly
Friends
Whilst
Away
Whisper

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Despair is the damp of hell, as joy is the serenity of heaven.
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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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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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Nature's lay idiot, I taught thee to love.
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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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Commemoration of Pandita Mary Ramabai, Translator of the Scriptures, 1922 A memory of yesterday's pleasures, a fear of tomorrow's dangers, a straw under my knees, a noise in my ear, a light in my eye, an anything, a nothing, a fancy, a chimera in my brain, troubles me in my prayers.
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I will not look upon the quickening sun, But straight her beauty to my sense shall run The air shall note her soft, the fire most pure Water suggest her clear, and the earth sure Time shall not lose our passages.
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And if there be any addition to knowledge, it is rather a new knowledge than a greater knowledge rather a singularity in a desire of proposing something that was not knownat all beforethananimproving, anadvancing, a multiplying of former inceptions and by that means, no knowledge comes to be perfect.
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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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That subtle knot which makes us man So must pure lovers souls descend T affections, and to faculties, Which sense may reach and apprehend, Else a great Prince in prison lies.
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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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Sleep with clean hands, either kept clean all day by integrity or washed clean at night by repentance.
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'Tis the year's midnight, and it is the day's.
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Sweetest love, I do not go, For weariness of thee, Nor in hope the world can show A fitter love for me But since that I Must die at last, 'tis best, To use my self in jest Thus by feign'd deaths to die.
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Since you would save none of me, I bury some of you.
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Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime, nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.
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Nature hath no goal though she hath law.
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Poor intricated soul! Riddling, perplexed, labyrinthical soul!
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Who are a little wise the best fools be.
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But think that we Are but turned aside to sleep.
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