John Milton Quotes
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...how wearisom Eternity so spent in worship paid To whom we hate. Let us not then pursue By force impossible, by leave obtain'd Unacceptable, though in Heav'n, our state Of splendid vassalage, but rather seek Our own good from our selves, and from our own Live to our selves, though in this vast recess, Free, and to none accountable, preferring Hard liberty before the easie yoke Of servile Pomp
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If by prayer Incessant I could hope to change the will Of him who all things can, I would not cease To weary him with my assiduous cries; But prayer against his absolute decree No more avails than breath against the wind Blown stifling back on him that breathes it forth: Therefore to his great bidding I submit.
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It is not virtue, wisdom, valour, wit, Strength, comeliness of shape, or amplest merit, That woman's love can win, or long inherit; But what it is, hard is to say, Harder to hit.
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It was that fatal and perfidious bark, Built in th' eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark.
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Our torments also may in length of time Become our elements, these piercing fires As soft as now severe, our temper changed Into their temper.
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Justice divine Mends not her slowest pace for prayers or cries.
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Such bickerings to recount, met often in these our writers, what more worth is it than to chronicle the wars of kites or crows flocking and fighting in the air?
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O execrable son! so to aspire Above his brethren, to himself assuming Authority usurped, from God not given. He gave us only over beast, fish, fowl, Dominion absolute; that right we hold By his donation; but man over men He made not lord; such title to himself Reserving, human left from human free.
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What is dark within me, illumine.
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Her silent course advance With inoffensive pace, that spinning sleeps On her soft axle.
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For what is glory but the blaze of fame?
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If the will, which in the law of our nature, were withdrawn from our memory, fancy, understanding, and reason, no other hell could equal, for a spiritual being, what we should then feel from the anarchy of our powers. It would be conscious madness,--a horrid thought!
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In mirth that after no repenting draws.
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The stars, that nature hung in heaven, and filled their lamps with everlasting oil, give due light to the misled and lonely traveller.
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The world was all before them, where to choose Their place of rest, and Providence their guide: They hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow, Through Eden took their solitary way.
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Such strains as would have won the earOf Pluto, to have quite set freeHis half-regained Eurydice.These delights, if thou canst give,Mirth, with thee, I mean to live.
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In God's intention, a meet and happy conversation is the chiefest and noblest end of marriage.
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While the cock with lively dinScatters the rear of darkness thin,And to the stack, or the barn door,Stoutly struts his dames before,Oft list'ning how the hounds and hornCheerly rouse the slumb'ring morn.
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Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly,Most musical, most melancholy!
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The never-ending flight Of future days.
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Which, if not victory, is yet revenge.
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But see! theVirgin blessed Hath laid her Babe to rest. Time is our tedious song should here have ending.
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Who overcomes by force, hath overcome but half his foe.
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But when Lust By unchaste looks, loose gestures, and foul talk, But most by lewd and lavish arts of sin, Lets in defilement to the inward parts, The soul grows clotted by contagion, Imbodies and imbrutes, till she quite lose The divine property of her first being.