John Milton Quotes
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No war, or battle's soundWas heard the world around.The idle spear and shield were high up hung.
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Rather than be less Car'd not to be at all.
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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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Me miserable! Which way shall I fly Infinite wrath and infinite despair? Which way I fly is hell; myself am hell; And in the lowest deep a lower deep, Still threat'ning to devour me, opens wide, To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven.
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Suffering for truth's sake Is fortitude to highest victory, And to the faithful death the gate of life.
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But say That death be not one stroke, as I supposed, Bereaving sense, but endless misery From this day onward, which I feel begun Both in me, and without me, and so last To perpetuity; ay me, that fear Comes thund'ring back with dreadful revolution On my defenceless head; both Death and I Am found eternal, and incorporate both, Nor I on my part single, in me all Paradise Lost Posterity stands cursed: fair patrimony That I must leave ye, sons; O were I able To waste it all myself, and leave ye none!
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The brazen throat of war.
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Our two first parents, yet the only two Of mankind, in the happy garden placed, Reaping immortal fruits of joy and love, Uninterrupted joy, unrivalled love In blissful solitude.
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He that has light within his own clear breast May sit in the centre, and enjoy bright day: But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts Benighted walks under the mid-day sun; Himself his own dungeon.
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Govern well thy appetite, lest Sin surprise thee, and her black attendant Death.
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And fast by, hanging in a golden chain, This pendent world, in bigness as a star Of smallest magnitude, close by the moon.
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Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day.
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All hell broke loose.
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No man who knows aught, can be so stupid to deny that all men naturally were born free.
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From his lips/Not words alone pleased her.
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He who reigns within himself and rules passions, desires, and fears is more than a king.
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Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie.
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Cyriack, whose Grandsire on the Royal BenchOf British Themis, with no mean applausePronounced and in his volumes taught our Laws,Which others at their Bar so often wrench
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A man may be ungrateful, but the human race is not so.
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For evil news rides post, while good news baits.
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For no falsehood can endure Touch of celestial temper.
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Pandemonium, the high capital Of Satan and his peers.
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Heaven, the seat of bliss, Brooks not the works of violence and war.
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Implied Subjection, but requir'd with gentle sway, And by her yielded, by him best receiv'd,- Yielded with coy submission, modest pride, And sweet, reluctant, amorous delay.