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My love though silly is more brave.

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
Silly
Brave
Though
Love

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Despair is the damp of hell, as joy is the serenity of heaven.
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Licence my roving hands, and let them go Before, behind, between, above, below.
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I shall die reading since my book and a grave are so near.
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If ever any beauty I did see, Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.
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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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Affliction is a treasure, and scarce any man hath enough of it.
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At the round earth's imagined corners, blow your trumpets, angels.
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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.
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To an incompetent judge I must not lie, but I may be silent to a competent I must answer.
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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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When I died last, and, Dear, I die As often as from thee I go Though it be but an hour ago, And lovers' hours be full eternity.
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Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime, nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.
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God is so omnipresent. . . . God is an angel in an angel, and a stone in a stone, and a straw in a straw.
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To be no part of any body, is to be nothing.
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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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No man is an island, entire of itself every man is a piece of the continent.
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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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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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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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