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And what is so intricate, so entangling as death? Who ever got out of a winding sheet?

John Donne

And what is so intricate, so entangling as death? Who ever got out of a winding sheet?
JOHN DONNE

Death Delicate Escape Wind
Love’s mysteries in souls do grow, But yet the body is his book.
JOHN DONNE

Body Book Grow Love Mystery Soul
Death is an ascension to a better library.
JOHN DONNE

Better Death Library
How imperfect is all our knowledge!
JOHN DONNE

Knowledge Ourselves Perfection
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

Expression Feeling Grave Human Thinking Word
Reason is our soul’s left hand, Faith her right, By these we reach divinity
JOHN DONNE

Divine Hands Ourselves Reason Soul
Nature hath no goal though she hath law.
JOHN DONNE

Goal Law Nature
In the first minute that my soul is infused, the Image of God is imprinted in my soul; so forward is God in my behalf, and so early does he visit me.
JOHN DONNE

God Image Myself Soul Visit
Love was as subtly caught, as a disease; But being got it is a treasure sweet, which to defend is harder than to get: And ought not be profaned on either part, for though ‘Tis got by chance, ‘Tis kept by art.
JOHN DONNE

Art Hard Love Sick Sweet Treasure
When one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language.
JOHN DONNE

Better Book Death Language Man Translation
If I dream I have you, I have you, for all our joys are but fantastical.
JOHN DONNE

Dreams Fantasy God Joy Myself Relationship
How much shall I be changed, before I am changed!
JOHN DONNE

Change Deep Myself
Doth not a man die even in his birth? The breaking of prison is death, and what is our birth, but a breaking of prison?
JOHN DONNE

Born Break Death Deep Man Ourselves Prison Spiritual
I sing the progress of a deathless soul.
JOHN DONNE

Death Myself One Liner Progress Sing Soul
No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face.
JOHN DONNE

Autumn Face Myself See Spring Summer
I do not love a man, except I hate his vices, because those vices are the enemies, and the destruction of that friend whom I love.
JOHN DONNE

Enemy Exception Friendship God Love Man Myself Vice

And what is so intricate, so entangling as death? Who ever got out of a winding sheet?

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And what is so intricate, so entangling as death? Who ever got out of a winding sheet?

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