Quote

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.

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
Chance
Corners
Trumpets
War
Arise
Infinity
Death
Souls
Imagined
Earth
Blow
Hath
Soul
Despair
Angels
Dearth
Angel
Tyranny
Tyrannies
Law
Round
Numberless
Age
Rounds
Slain

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It is too little to call man a little world Except God, man is a diminutive to nothing.
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But think that we Are but turned aside to sleep.
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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?
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This Extasie doth unperplex (We said) and tell us what we love, Wee see by this, it was not sexe, Wee see, we saw not what did move: But as all severall soules contain Mixture of things, they know not what, Love, these mixt souls, doth mixe againe. Loves mysteries in soules doe grow, But yet the body is his booke.
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I shall die reading since my book and a grave are so near.
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Of all the commentaries on the Scriptures, good examples are the best.
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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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Between these two, the denying of sins, which we have done, and the bragging of sins, which we have not done, what a space, what a compass is there, for millions of millions of sins!
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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 rage, to lust, to write to, to commend, All is the purlieu of the god of love.
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All whom war, dearth, age, agues, tyrannies, Despair, law, chance, hath slain.
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The day breaks not, it is my heart.
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My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears, And true plain hearts do in the faces rest Where can we find two better hemispheres, Without sharp north, without declining west? Whatever dies, was not mix'd equally If our two loves be one, or, thou and I Love so alike, that none do slacken, none can die.
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God is so omnipresent. . . . God is an angel in an angel, and a stone in a stone, and a straw in a straw.
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Death comes equally to us all, and makes us all equal when it comes.
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True joy is the earnest which we have of heaven, it is the treasure of the soul, and therefore should be laid in a safe place, and nothing in this world is safe to place it in.
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When one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language.
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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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Eternity is not an everlasting flux of time, but time is as a short parenthesis in a long period.
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