John Milton Quotes
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As ever in my great Taskmaster's eye.
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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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In the sweat of thy face thou shalt eat bread, Till thou return unto the ground; for thou Out of the ground wast taken; know thy birth, For dust thou art, and shalt to dust return.
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Ah, why should all mankind For one man's fault, be condemned, If guiltless?
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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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Freely they stood who stood, and fell who fell.
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But hail thou Goddess sage and holy, Hail, divinest Melancholy, Whose saintly visage is too bright To hit the sense of human sight, And therefore to our weaker view O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue.
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It is Chastity, my brother. She that has that is clad in complete steel.
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And live like Nature's bastards, not her sons.
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Anon out of the earth a fabric huge Rose, like an exhalation.
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O fleeting joys Of Paradise, dear bought with lasting woes!
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Execute their airy purposes.
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Without the meed of some melodious tear.
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Evil on itself shall back recoil.
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[Rhyme is] but the invention of a barbarous age, to set off wretched matter and lame Meter; ... Not without cause therefore some both Italian and Spanish poets of prime note have rejected rhyme, ... as have also long since our best English tragedies, as... trivial and of no true musical delight; which [truly] consists only in apt numbers, fit quantity of syllables, and the sense variously drawn out from one verse into another, not in the jingling sound of like endings, a fault avoided by the learned ancients both in poetry and all good oratory.
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Good, the more communicated, more abundant grows.
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Blind mouths! That scarce themselves know how to holdA sheep-hook.
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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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Attic tragedies of stateliest and most regal argument.
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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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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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What is strength without a double share of wisdom?
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Still paying, still to owe. Eternal woe!
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Virtue hath no tongue to check vice's pride.