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To an incompetent judge I must not lie, but I may be silent to a competent I must answer.

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
May
Incompetent
Must
Competent
Judge
Silent
Judging
Answer
Answers
Lying

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Batter my heart, three-personed God, for you As yet but knock breathe, shine, and seek to mend That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
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The sun must not set upon anger, much less will I let the sun set upon the anger of God towards me.
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So, so, break off this last lamenting kiss, Which sucks two souls, and vapors both away.
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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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That which attempts to elevate the ugly to the level of beauty becomes neither but an obscenity.
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Let man's soul be a sphere, and then, in this, The intelligence that moves, devotion is.
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And what is so intricate, so entangling as death? Who ever got out of a winding sheet?
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If we consider eternity, into that time never entered eternity is not an everlasting flux of time, but time is as a short parenthesis in a long period and eternity had been the same as it is, though time had never been.
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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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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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The distance from nothing to a little, is ten thousand times more, than from it to the highest degree in this life.
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The day breaks not, it is my heart.
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Send home my long strayed eyes to me, Which (Oh) too long have dwelt on thee.
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In heaven it is always autumn.
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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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Enjoyment always has a spoiling, otherwise it cannot be so.
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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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I have done one braver thing than all the Worthies did, and yet a braver thence doth spring, which is, to keep that hid.
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Keep us, Lord, so awake in the duties of our calling that we may sleep in thy peace and wake in thy glory.
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That soul that can reflect upon itself, consider itself, is more than so.
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