John Donne (/dʌn/ DUN; 22 January 1572 – 31 March 1631) was an English poet and cleric in the Church of England.
Nature's lay idiot, I taught thee to love.
Yesternight the sun went hence, And yet is here today.
Tis true, 'tis day; what though it be? O wilt thou therefore rise from me? Why should we rise, because 'tis light? Did we lie down, because 'twas night? Love which in spite of darkness brought us hither Should in despite of light keep us together.
The day breaks not, it is my heart.
Be more than man, or thou'rt less than an ant.
There is hook in every benefit, that sticks in his jaws that takes that benefit, and draws him whither the benefactor will.
I shall not live 'till I see God; and when I have seen Him, I shall never die.
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?
Reason is our soul's left hand, Faith her right, By these we reach divinity
At the round earth's imagined corners, blow your trumpets, angels.
Religion is not a melancholy, the spirit of God is not a damper.
Christ beats his drum, but he does not press men; Christ is served with voluntaries.
And to 'scape stormy days, I choose an everlasting night.
If every gnat that flies were an archangel, all that could but tell me that there is a God; and the poorest worm that creeps tells me that.
Of all the commentaries on the Scriptures, good examples are the best.
We study health, and we deliberate upon our meats and drink and air and exercises, and we hew and we polish every stone that goes to that building; and so our health is a long and regular work. But in a minute a cannon batters all, overthrows all, demolishes all; a sickness unprevented for all our diligence, unsuspected for all our curiosity, nay, undeserved, if we consider only disorder, summons us, seizes us, possesses us, destroys us in an instant.
Other men's crosses are not my crosses.
There is no health; physicians say that we, at best, enjoy but neutrality.
Then love is sin, and let me sinful be.
Whilst my physicians by their love are grown Cosmographers, and I their map, who lie Flat on this bed.