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I wonder by my troth, what thou, and I Did, till we loved? were we not weaned till then? But sucked on country pleasures, childishly? Or snorted we in the seven sleepers' den?
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
Country
Sucked
Love
Pleasures
Till
Childishly
Thou
Troth
Seven
Weaned
Loved
Snorted
Wonder
Sleepers
Pleasure
Dens
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I throw myself down in my chamber, and I call in, and invite God, and his Angels thither, and when they are there, I neglect God and his Angels, for the noise of a fly, for the rattling of a coach, for the whining of a door.
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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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But think that we Are but turned aside to sleep.
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But I do nothing upon myself, and yet I am my own executioner.
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Humiliation is the beginning of sanctification.
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We can die by it, if not live by love, And if unfit for tombs and hearse Our legend be, it will be fit for verse And if no peace of chronicle we prove, We'll build in sonnet pretty rooms As well a well wrought urne becomes The greatest ashes, as half-acre tombs.
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I am a little world made cunningly.
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