John Donne (/dʌn/ DUN; 22 January 1572 – 31 March 1631) was an English poet and cleric in the Church of England.
ask not for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee
One short sleep past, we wake eternally, And Death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
Great sins are great possessions; but levities and vanities possess us too; and men had rather part with Christ than with any possession.
As soon as there was two there was pride.
I am two fools, I know, For loving, and for saying so.
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.
I shall die reading; since my book and a grave are so near.
The distance from nothing to a little, is ten thousand times more, than from it to the highest degree in this life.
Humiliation is the beginning of sanctification; and as without this, without holiness, no man shall see God, though he pore whole nights upon his Bible; so without that, without humility, no man shall hear God speak to his soul, though he hear three two-hour sermons every day.
All our life is but a going out to the place of execution, to death.
I throw myself down in my chamber, and I call in, and invite God, and his Angels thither, and when they are there, I neglect God and his Angels, for the noise of a fly, for the rattling of a coach, for the whining of a door.
'Tis the year's midnight, and it is the day's.
Busy old fool, unruly Sun, why dost thou thus through windows and through curtains call on us? Must to thy motions lovers seasons run?
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.
All Kings, and all their favorites, All glory of honors, beauties, wits, The sun itself, which makes times, as they pass, Is elder by a year, now, than it was When thou and I first one another saw: All other things, to their destruction draw, Only our love hath no decay; This, no tomorrow hash, nor yesterday, Running, it never runs from us away, But truly keeps his first, last, everlasting day.
As virtuous men pass mildly away, and whisper to their souls to go, whilst some of their sad friends do say, the breath goes now, and some say no.
The sun must not set upon anger, much less will I let the sun set upon the anger of God towards me.
Then love is sin, and let me sinful be.
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.
Art is the most passionate orgy within man's grasp.