John Milton Quotes
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But now my task is smoothly done, I can fly, or I can run Quickly to the green earth's end, Where the bow'd welkin slow doth bend, And from thence can soar as soon To the corners of the Moon.
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Swinish gluttony never looks to heaven amidst its gorgeous feast; but with besotted, base ingratitude, cravens and blasphemes his feeder.
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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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To adore the conqueror, who now beholds Cherub and seraph rolling in the flood.
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By night the Glass Of Galileo ... observes Imagin'd Land and Regions in the Moon.
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The helmed Cherubim, And sworded Seraphim, Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display'd.
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What honour that, But tedious waste of time, to sit and hear So many hollow compliments and lies.
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Into this wild abyss, The womb of Nature and perhaps her grave.
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How gladly would I meet mortality, my sentence, and be earth in sensible! How glad would lay me down, as in my mother's lap! There I should rest, and sleep secure.
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Sometime let gorgeous TragedyIn sceptred pall come sweeping by,Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line,Or the tale of Troy divine.
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Thus I set my printless feet O'er the cowslip's velvet head, That bends not as I tread.
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For Lycidas your sorrow is not dead,Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor;So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed;And yet anon repairs his drooping head,And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled oreFlames in the forehead of the morning sky.So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high,Through the dear might of him that walked the waves.
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Of calling shapes, and beck'ning shadows dire, And airy tongues that syllable men's names.
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The Saviour who flitted before the patriarchs through the fog of the old dispensation, and who spake in time past to the fathers by the prophets, articulate but unseen, is the same Saviour who, on the open heights of the Gospel, and in the abundant daylight of this New Testament, speaks to us. Still all along it is the same Jesus, and that Bible is from beginning to end all of it, the word of Christ.
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License they mean when they cry, Liberty!For who loves that must first be wise and good.
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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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Truth is compared in Scripture to a streaming fountain; if her waters flow not in perpetual progression, they sicken into a muddy pool of conformity and tradition.
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No mighty trance, or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
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Loneliness is the first thing which God's eye named not good.
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Thus Belial, with words clothed in reason's garb, counseled ignoble ease, and peaceful sloth, not peace.
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Death is the golden key that opens the palace of eternity.
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Anarchy is the sure consequence of tyranny; for no power that is not limited by laws can ever be protected by them.
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O madness to think use of strongest wines And strongest drinks our chief support of health, When God with these forbidden made choice to rear His mighty champion, strong above compare, Whose drink was only from the liquid brook.
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For to interpose a little ease, Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise.