The rich have no more of the kingdom of heaven than they have purchased of the poor by their alms.

Commemoration of John Donne, Priest, Poet, 1631 He was the Word that spake it; He took the bread and brake it; And what that Word did make it I do believe, and take it.

One short sleep past, we wake eternally, And Death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

To know and feel all this and not have the words to express it makes a human a grave of his own thoughts.

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.

Twice or thrice had I loved thee before I knew thy face or name, so in a voice, so in a shapeless flame, angels affect us oft, and worshiped be.

For love all love of other sights controls and makes one little room an everywhere