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Whilst my physicians by their love are grown Cosmographers, and I their map, who lie Flat on this bed.

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
Grown
Bed
Lying
Love
Whilst
Physicians
Flat
Flats
Maps

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Oh do not die, for I shall hate All women so, when thou art gone.
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Death comes equally to us all, and makes us all equal when it comes.
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Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
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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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To an incompetent judge I must not lie, but I may be silent to a competent I must answer.
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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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In the first minute that my soul is infused, the Image of God is imprinted in my soul so forward is God in my behalf, and so early does he visit me.
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Affliction is a treasure, and scarce any man hath enough of it.
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That which attempts to elevate the ugly to the level of beauty becomes neither but an obscenity.
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...Whatever dies was not mixed equally, If our two loves be one Or thou and I love so alike That none can slacken, none can die.
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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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Man hath weaved out a net, and this net throwne upon the Heavens, and now they are his own.
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All other things to their destruction draw, Only our love hath no decay.
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Be more than man, or thou'rt less than an ant.
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Festive alcohol sometimes leads to an excess of honesty.
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Since you would save none of me, I bury some of you.
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Nature's lay idiot, I taught thee to love.
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