Quote

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.

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
Sun
Maturity
Firsts
Hath
Mercies
First
Moon
Paradise
Decrees
Made
Minutes
Minute
Decree
Always
Heaven
Seasons
Distinguish
Night
Mercy
Ripe
Cannot
Fruit
Fruits
Earth
God
Autumn
Ever

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So, so, break off this last lamenting kiss, Which sucks two souls, and vapors both away.
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Oh do not die, for I shall hate All women so, when thou art gone.
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Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
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Licence my roving hands, and let them go Before, behind, between, above, below.
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That thou remember them, some claim as debt I think it mercy, if thou wilt forget.
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Death comes equally to us all, and makes us all equal when it comes.
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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.
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Of all the commentaries on the Scriptures, good examples are the best.
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And swear No where Lives a woman true, and fair.
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Nature's lay idiot, I taught thee to love.
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I am a little world made cunningly.
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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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That soul that can reflect upon itself, consider itself, is more than so.
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To a large degree, since the beginning of time, charisma or the lack of it has impacted upon those in quest of acclaim. As media expands, this has become ever more vital. Thus, demeanor if unappealing, can defeat one's likelihood of success, causing the death of prospects whilst they are still embryonic.
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'Tis the year's midnight, and it is the day's.
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Men are sponges, which, to pour out, receive Who know false play, rather than lose, deceive. For in best understandings sin began, Angels sinn'd first, then devils, and then man. Only perchance beasts sin not wretched we Are beasts in all but white integrity.
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