John Milton Quotes
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Still paying, still to owe. Eternal woe!
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Thus with the year Seasons return, but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of ev'n or morn, Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine.
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Wherefore did Nature pour her bounties forth With such a full and unwithdrawing hand, Covering the earth with odours, fruits, flocks, Thronging the seas with spawn innumerable, But all to please and sate the curious taste?
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It is Chastity, my brother. She that has that is clad in complete steel.
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And join with thee, calm Peace and Quiet,Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet.
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A dungeon horrible, on all sides round, As one great furnace, flamed; yet from those flames No light, but rather darkness visible Serv'd only to discover sights of woe, Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace And rest can never dwell, hope never comes That comes to all; but torture without end.
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With diadem and sceptre high advanced, The lower still I fall; only supreme In misery; such joy ambition finds.
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I will not deny but that the best apology against false accusers is silence and sufferance, and honest deeds set against dishonest words.
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But pain is perfect misery, the worst Of evils, and excessive, overturns All patience.
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Here we may reign secure; and in my choice To reign is worth ambition, though in hell: Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven.
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Without the meed of some melodious tear.
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Meadows trim, with daisies pied,Shallow brooks, and rivers wide;Towers and balements it seesBosomed high in tufted trees,Where perhaps some beauty lies,The cynosure of neighboring eyes.
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Attic tragedies of stateliest and most regal argument.
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Freely they stood who stood, and fell who fell.
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Well observe The rule of Not too much, by temperance taught In what thou eat'st and drink'st.
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Yet I argue notAgainst Heav'n's hand or will, nor bate one jotOf heart or hope; but still bear up, and steerRight onward.
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Let her (Truth) and Falsehood grapple; who ever knew Truth put to the worse in a free and open encounter?
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Of calling shapes, and beck'ning shadows dire, And airy tongues that syllable men's names.
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Evil on itself shall back recoil.
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Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts And eloquence.
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Loneliness is the first thing which God's eye named not good.
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The helmed Cherubim, And sworded Seraphim, Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display'd.
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I on the other side Us'd no ambition to commend my deeds; The deeds themselves, though mute, spoke loud the doer.
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To adore the conqueror, who now beholds Cherub and seraph rolling in the flood.