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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!

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
Millions
Space
Two
Done
Bragging
Denying
Compass
Sins
Sin

More quotes by John Donne

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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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Let man's soul be a sphere, and then, in this, The intelligence that moves, devotion is.
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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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Whilst my physicians by their love are grown Cosmographers, and I their map, who lie Flat on this bed.
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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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But think that we Are but turned aside to sleep.
John Donne
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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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That soul that can reflect upon itself, consider itself, is more than so.
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I shall die reading since my book and a grave are so near.
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Oft from new truths, and new phrase, new doubts grow, As strange attire aliens the men we know.
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Let me arrest thy thoughts, wonder with me, Why ploughing, building, ruling and the rest, Or most of those arts, whence our lives are blessed, By cursed Cain's race invented be, And blessed Seth vexed us with astronomy.
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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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Despair is the damp of hell, as joy is the serenity of heaven.
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One short sleep past, we wake eternally, And Death shall be no more Death, thou shalt die.
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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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Pleasure is none, if not diversified.
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I am a little world made cunningly.
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Old grandsires talk of yesterday with sorrow, And for our children we reserve tomorrow.
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Affliction is a treasure, and scarce any man hath enough of it. No man hath affliction enough that is not matured and ripened by it and made fit for God.
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The flea, though he kill none, he does all the harm he can.
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