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Poor heretics there be,Which think to establish dangerous constancy,But I have told them, ‘Since you will be true,You shall be true to them, who are false to you.

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
Poor
Heretic
True
Constancy
Think
Establish
Thinking
False
Told
Dangerous
Shall
Since
Heretics

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Take me to you, imprison me, for I, except you enthrall me, never shall be free, nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.
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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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Nature hath no goal though she hath law.
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So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame, Angels affect us often.
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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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Sleep with clean hands, either kept clean all day by integrity or washed clean at night by repentance.
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As he that fears God fears nothing else, so he that sees God sees everything else.
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So, so, break off this last lamenting kiss, Which sucks two souls, and vapors both away.
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O Lord, never suffer us to think that we can stand by ourselves, and not need thee.
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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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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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...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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Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
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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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As states subsist in part by keeping their weaknesses from being known, so is it the quiet of families to have their chancery and their parliament within doors, and to compose and determine all emergent differences there.
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I am two fools, I know, For loving, and for saying so.
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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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The Phoenix riddle hath more wit By us, we two being one, are it. So to one neutral thing both sexes fit, We die and rise the same, and prove Mysterious by this love.
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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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What gnashing is not a comfort, what gnawing of the worm is not a tickling, what torment is not a marriage bed to this damnation, to be secluded eternally, eternally, eternally from the sight of God?
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