God affords no man the comfort, the false comfort of Atheism: He will not allow a pretending Atheist the power to flatter himself, so far, as to seriously think there is no God.
JOHN DONNEPoetry is a counterfeit creation, and makes things that are not, as though they were.
More John Donne Quotes
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To know and feel all this and not have the words to express it makes a human a grave of his own thoughts.
JOHN DONNE -
What if this present were the world’s last night?
JOHN DONNE -
Ask not for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.
JOHN DONNE -
I sing the progress of a deathless soul.
JOHN DONNE -
Thy face is mine eye, and mine is thine.
JOHN DONNE -
So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame, Angels affect us often.
JOHN DONNE -
True joy is the earnest which we have of heaven, it is the treasure of the soul, and therefore should be laid in a safe place, and nothing in this world is safe to place it in.
JOHN DONNE -
Poor intricated soul! Riddling, perplexed, labyrinthical soul!
JOHN DONNE -
More than kisses, letters mingle souls.
JOHN DONNE -
As God loves a cheerful giver, so he also loves a cheerful taker. Who takes hold of his gifts with a glad heart.
JOHN DONNE -
God is so omnipresent. God is an angel in an angel, and a stone in a stone, and a straw in a straw.
JOHN DONNE -
How much shall I be changed, before I am changed!
JOHN DONNE -
For love all love of other sights controls and makes one little room an everywhere.
JOHN DONNE -
And what is so intricate, so entangling as death? Who ever got out of a winding sheet?
JOHN DONNE -
We give each other a smile with a future in it.
JOHN DONNE -
For God’s sake hold your tongue, and let me love.
JOHN DONNE -
Death is an ascension to a better library.
JOHN DONNE -
Art is the most passionate orgy within man’s grasp.
JOHN DONNE -
In heaven it is always autumn.
JOHN DONNE -
No man is an island unto himself.
JOHN DONNE -
Licence my roving hands, and let them go Before, behind, between, above, below.
JOHN DONNE -
I shall not live ’till I see God; and when I have seen Him, I shall never die.
JOHN DONNE -
Love’s mysteries in souls do grow, But yet the body is his book.
JOHN DONNE -
Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime, nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.
JOHN DONNE -
I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I Did, till we lov’d?
JOHN DONNE -
If I dream I have you, I have you, for all our joys are but fantastical.
JOHN DONNE