John Milton Quotes
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And now the herald lark Left his ground-nest, high tow'ring to descry The morn's approach, and greet her with his song.
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Imparadis'd in one another's arms.
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Death is the golden key that opens the palace of eternity.
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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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What can 'scape the eye Of God, all-seeing, or deceive His heart. Omniscient!
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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.
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Into this wild abyss, The womb of Nature and perhaps her grave.
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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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I sat me down to watch upon a bank With ivy canopied and interwove With flaunting honeysuckle.
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Neither prosperity nor empire nor heaven can be worth winning at the price of a virulent temper, bloody hands, an anguished spirit, and a vain hatred of the rest of the world.
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The oracles are dumb, No voice or hideous humRuns through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine,With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving.No nightly trance or breathed spellInspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
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A beardless cynic is the shame of nature.
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With ruin upon ruin, rout on rout, Confusion worse confounded.
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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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He who freely magnifies what hath been nobly done, and fears not to declares as freely what might be done better, gives ye the best covenant of his fidelity.
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Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail.
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He 's gone, and who knows how he may report Thy words by adding fuel to the flame?
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Such sober certainty of waking bliss.
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Was I deceiv'd, or did a sable cloud Turn forth her silver lining on the night?
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And add to these retired Leisure, That in trim gardens take his pleasure.
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Danger will wink on opportunity.
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Our torments also may in length of time Become our Elements.
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Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise...
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O sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams That bring to my remembrance from what state I fell, how glorious once above thy sphere.