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Old grandsires talk of yesterday with sorrow, And for our children we reserve tomorrow.

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
Children
Reserve
Reserves
Yesterday
Sorrow
Tomorrow
Talk

More quotes by John Donne

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In heaven it is always autumn.
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O how feeble is man's power, that if good fortune fall, cannot add another hour, nor a lost hour recall!
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Nature's lay idiot, I taught thee to love.
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How many times go we to comedies, to masques, to places of great and noble resort, nay even to church only to see the company.
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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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. . . Change is the nursery Of musicke, joy, life and eternity.
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All whom war, dearth, age, agues, tyrannies, Despair, law, chance, hath slain.
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Lust-bred diseases rot thee.
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Can there be worse sickness, than to know that we are never well, nor can be so?
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There is nothing that God hath established in a constant course of nature, and which therefore is done every day, but would seem a Miracle, and exercise our admiration, if it were done but once.
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Death, thou shalt die.
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Who are a little wise the best fools be.
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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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Send home my long strayed eyes to me, Which (Oh) too long have dwelt on thee.
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I shall die reading since my book and a grave are so near.
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I would not that death should take me asleep. I would not have him merely seize me, and only declare me to be dead, but win me, and overcome me. When I must shipwreck, I would do it in a sea, where mine impotency might have some excuse not in a sullen weedy lake, where I could not have so much as exercise for my swimming.
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Love is a growing, or full constant light And his first minute, after noon, is night.
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Festive alcohol sometimes leads to an excess of honesty.
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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!
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Come live with me, and be my love, And we will some new pleasures prove Of golden sands, and crystal brooks, With silken lines, and silver hooks.
John Donne