John Milton Quotes
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God made thee perfect, not immutable.
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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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Still paying, still to owe. Eternal woe!
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The helmed Cherubim, And sworded Seraphim, Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display'd.
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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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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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When complaints are freely heard, deeply considered and speedily reformed, then is the utmost bound of civil liberty attained that wise men look for.
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Blind mouths! That scarce themselves know how to holdA sheep-hook.
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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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Ah, why should all mankind For one man's fault, be condemned, If guiltless?
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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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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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No mighty trance, or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
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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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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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Incens'd with indignation Satan stood Unterrify'd, and like a comet burn'd That fires the length of Ophiuchus huge In th' arctic sky, and from his horrid hair Shakes pestilence and war.
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Without the meed of some melodious tear.
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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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License they mean when they cry, Liberty!For who loves that must first be wise and good.
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What needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones,The labor of an age in pilèd stones,Or that his hallowed relics should be hidUnder a star-y-pointing pyramid?Dear son of memory, great heir of fame,What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name?
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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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How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth,Stol'n on his wing my three-and-twentieth year!
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Of calling shapes, and beck'ning shadows dire, And airy tongues that syllable men's names.