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Sleep with clean hands, either kept clean all day by integrity or washed clean at night by repentance.

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
Hands
Washed
Repentance
Kept
Integrity
Clean
Either
Sleep
Night

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That thou remember them, some claim as debt I think it mercy, if thou wilt forget.
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Affliction is a treasure, and scarce any man hath enough of it.
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I count all that part of my life lost which I spent not in communion with God, or in doing good.
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Love's mysteries in souls do grow, But yet the body is his book.
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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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At the round earth's imagined corners, blow your trumpets, angels.
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To be no part of any body, is to be nothing.
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Send home my long strayed eyes to me, Which (Oh) too long have dwelt on thee.
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At most, the greatest persons are but great wens, and excrescences men of wit and delightful conversation, but as morals for ornament, except they be so incorporated into the body of the world that they contribute something to the sustentation of the whole.
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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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Death comes equally to us all, and makes us all equal when it comes.
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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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If poisonous minerals, and if that tree, Whose fruit threw death on else immortal us, If lecherous goats, if serpents envious Cannot be damned alas why should I be?
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Nothing but man of all envenomed things, doth work upon itself, with inborn stings.
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Enjoyment always has a spoiling, otherwise it cannot be so.
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I am a little world made cunningly.
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All other things to their destruction draw, Only our love hath no decay.
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There is hook in every benefit, that sticks in his jaws that takes that benefit, and draws him whither the benefactor will.
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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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Pleasure is none, if not diversified.
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