John Milton Quotes
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Methought I saw my late espousèd saintBrought to me like Alcestis from the grave.
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Ah, why should all mankind For one man's fault, be condemned, If guiltless?
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Still paying, still to owe. Eternal woe!
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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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The helmed Cherubim, And sworded Seraphim, Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display'd.
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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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Th' ethereal mould Incapable of stain would soon expel Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire, Victorious. Thus repuls'd, our final hope Is flat despair.
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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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Without the meed of some melodious tear.
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Let none henceforth seek needless cause to approve The faith they owe; when earnestly they seek Such proof, conclude, they then begin to fail.
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Attic tragedies of stateliest and most regal argument.
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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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Swinish gluttony never looks to heaven amidst its gorgeous feast; but with besotted, base ingratitude, cravens and blasphemes his feeder.
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Evil on itself shall back recoil.
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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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For to interpose a little ease, Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise.
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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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These two imparadised in one another's arms, the happier Eden, shall enjoy their fill of bliss on bliss.
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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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And every shepherd tells his taleUnder the hawthorn in the dale.
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The gadding vine.
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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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Of calling shapes, and beck'ning shadows dire, And airy tongues that syllable men's names.
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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.