John Milton Quotes
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Where peace And rest can never dwell, hope never comes, That comes to all.
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Death ready stands to interpose his dart.
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Let us descend now therefore from this top Of speculation.
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Ere the blabbing eastern scout, The nice morn, on th' Indian steep From her cabin'd loop-hole peep.
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With eyes Of conjugal attraction unreprov'd. Imparadised in one another's arms. With thee conversing I forget all time. And feel that I am happier than I know.
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Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise...
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Hope elevates, and joy Brightens his crest.
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Accuse not nature: she hath done her part; Do thou but thine.
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From morn To noon he fell, from noon to dewy eve,- A summer's day; and with the setting sun Dropp'd from the Zenith like a falling star.
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It is not hard for any man who hath a Bible in his hand to borrow good words and holy sayings in abundance; but to make them his own is a work of grace only from above.
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Nor love thy life, nor hate; but what thou livest, Live well; how long, or short, permit to Heaven.
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And the jocund rebecks soundTo many a youth, and many a maid,Dancing in the checkered shade.And young and old come forth to playOn a sunshine holiday.
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Under the opening eyelids of the morn,We drove afield; and both together heardWhat time the gray-fly winds her sultry horn,Batt'ning our flocks with the fresh dews of night.
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From restless thoughts, that, like a deadly swarm Of hornets arm'd, no sooner found alone, But rush upon me thronging.
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Believe and be confirmed.
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Behold the kings of the Earth how they oppressThy chosen, to what highth thir pow'r unjustThey have exalted, and behind them castAll fear of thee, arise and vindicateThy Glory, free thy people from thir yoke
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Don't hold grudges; it's pointless. Jealousy too is a non-cathartic, negative emotion.
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Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven.
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And that must end us, that must be our cure: To be no more. Sad cure! For who would lose, Though full of pain, this intellectual being, Those thoughts that wander through eternity, To perish, rather, swallowed up and lost In the wide womb of uncreated night Devoid of sense and motion?
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The wife, where danger or dishonour lurks, Safest and seemliest by her husband stays, Who guards her, or with her the worst endures.
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Nor turned I ween Adam from his fair spouse, nor Eve the rites Mysterious of connubial love refused: Whatever hypocrites austerely talk Of purity and place and innocence, Defaming as impure what God declares Pure, and commands to some, leaves free to all.
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Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures Whilst the landscape round it measures, Russet lawns and fallows grey, Where the nibbling flocks do stray, Mountains on whose barren breast The labouring clouds do often rest; Meadows trim with daisies pied, Shallow brooks, and rivers wide.
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Of four infernal rivers that disgorge/ Into the burning Lake their baleful streams;/Abhorred Styx the flood of deadly hate,/Sad Acheron of sorrow, black and deep;/Cocytus, nam'd of lamentation loud/ Heard on the rueful stream; fierce Phlegethon/ Whose waves of torrent fire inflame with rage./ Far off from these a slow and silent stream,/ Lethe the River of Oblivion rolls/ Her wat'ry Labyrinth whereof who drinks,/ Forthwith his former state and being forgets,/ Forgets both joy and grief, pleasure and pain.
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Courtesy which oft is found in lowly sheds, with smoky rafters, than in tapestry halls and courts of princes, where it first was named.