If I lose at play, I blaspheme; if my fellow loses, he blasphemes. So, God is always the loser.

How great love is, presence best trial makes, But absence tries how long this love will be.

Nothing but man of all envenomed things, doth work upon itself, with inborn stings.

Death comes equally to us all, and makes us all equal when it comes.

Sleep with clean hands, either kept clean all day by integrity or washed clean at night by repentance.

If they be two, they are two so As stiff twin compasses are two, Thy soul the fixt foot, makes no show To move, but doth, if the other do.

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.