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To rage, to lust, to write to, to commend, All is the purlieu of the god of love.

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
Rage
Write
Writing
Love
Commend
Lust

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. . . Change is the nursery Of musicke, joy, life and eternity.
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Old grandsires talk of yesterday with sorrow, And for our children we reserve tomorrow.
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Who are a little wise the best fools be.
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That subtle knot which makes us man So must pure lovers souls descend T affections, and to faculties, Which sense may reach and apprehend, Else a great Prince in prison lies.
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All whom war, dearth, age, agues, tyrannies, Despair, law, chance, hath slain.
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A man that is not afraid of a Lion is afraid of a Cat .
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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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Humiliation is the beginning of sanctification.
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Death comes equally to us all, and makes us all equal when it comes.
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No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face.
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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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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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Lust-bred diseases rot thee.
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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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Eternity is not an everlasting flux of time, but time is as a short parenthesis in a long period.
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Licence my roving hands, and let them go Before, behind, between, above, below.
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To be no part of any body, is to be nothing.
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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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God employs several translators some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice.
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The flea, though he kill none, he does all the harm he can.
John Donne