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And swear No where Lives a woman true, and fair.

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
Fairs
Fair
Woman
Lives
True
Women
Life
Swear

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'Tis the year's midnight, and it is the day's.
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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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Religion is not a melancholy, the spirit of God is not a damper.
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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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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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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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Love's mysteries in souls do grow, But yet the body is his book.
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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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But think that we Are but turned aside to sleep.
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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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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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No man is an island, entire of itself every man is a piece of the continent.
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In heaven it is always autumn.
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Without outward declarations, who can conclude an inward love?
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God made sun and moon to distinguish the seasons, and day and night and we cannot have the fruits of the earth but in their seasons. But God hath made no decrees to distinguish the seasons of His mercies. In Paradise the fruits were ripe the first minute, and in heaven it is always autumn. His mercies are ever in their maturity.
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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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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.
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Love is a growing, or full constant light And his first minute, after noon, is night.
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