John Donne

Men perish with whispering sins--nay, with silent sins, sins that never tell the conscience that they are sins, as often read more

Men perish with whispering sins--nay, with silent sins, sins that never tell the conscience that they are sins, as often with crying sins; and in hell there shall meet as many men that never thought what was sin, as that spent all their thoughts in the compassing of sin.

Commemoration of John Donne, Priest, Poet, 1631 When all is done, the hell of hells, the torment of torments, read more

Commemoration of John Donne, Priest, Poet, 1631 When all is done, the hell of hells, the torment of torments, is the everlasting absence of God, and the everlasting impossibility of returning to his presence; sayes the Apostle, it is a fearefull thing to fall into the hands of the living God. Yet there was a case, in which David found an ease, to fall into the hands of God, to scape the hands of men: When God's hand is bent to strike, it is a fearefull thing, to fall into the hands of the living God; but to fall out of the hands of the living God, is a horror beyond our expression, beyond our imagination.

Concluding a short series on authenticity: Think thyself at that Tribunal, that judgment, now: Where thou shalt not read more

Concluding a short series on authenticity: Think thyself at that Tribunal, that judgment, now: Where thou shalt not only hear all thy sinful works, and words, and thoughts repeated, which thou thy self hadst utterly forgot, but thou shalt hear thy good works, thine alms, thy coming to Church, thy hearing of Sermons, given in evidence against thee, because they had hypocrisy mingled in them; yea, thou shalt find even thy repentance to condemn thee, because thou madest that but a door to a relapse.

Commemoration of John Donne, Priest, Poet, 1631 I throw myself down in my chamber, and I call in and read more

Commemoration of John Donne, Priest, Poet, 1631 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.

Love built on beauty, soon as beauty, dies.

Love built on beauty, soon as beauty, dies.