John Milton Quotes
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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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Execute their airy purposes.
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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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With a smile that glow'd Celestial rosy red, love's proper hue.
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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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Where more is meant than meets the ear.
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Inflamed with the study of learning and the admiration of virtue; stirred up with high hopes of living to be brave men and worthy patriots, dear to God, and famous to all ages.
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The leaf was darkish, and had prickles on it, But in another country, as he said, Bore a bright golden flow'r, but not in this soil; Unknown, and like esteem'd, and the dull swain Treads on it daily with his clouted shoon.
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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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But what more oft in nations grown corrupt, And by their vices brought to servitude, Than to love bondage more than liberty, Bondage with ease than strenuous liberty.
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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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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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This having learnt, thou hast attained the sum Of wisdom; hope no higher, though all the stars Thou knew'st by name, and all th'ethereal powers, All secrets of the deep, all nature's works, Or works of God in heav'n, air, earth, or sea, And all the riches of this world enjoy'dst, And all the rule, one empire; onlyadd Deeds to thy knowledge answerable, add faith, Add virtue, patience, temperance, add love, By name to come called charity, the soul Of all the rest: then wilt thou not be loath To leave this Paradise, but shalt possess A paradise within thee, happier far.
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Truth never comes into the world but like a bastard, to the ignominy of him that brought her birth.
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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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I did but prompt the age to quit their clogs By the known rules of ancient liberty, When straight a barbarous noise environs me Of owls and cuckoos, asses, apes and dogs.
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Methought I saw my late espousèd saintBrought to me like Alcestis from the grave.
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The superior man acquaints himself with many sayings of antiquity and many deeds of the past, in order to strengthen his character thereby.
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Virtue may be assailed, but never hurt, Surprised by unjust force, but not inthralled; Yea, even that which mischief meant most harm Shall in the happy trial prove most glory.
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But O the heavy change, now thou art gone,Now thou art gone and never must return!
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For to interpose a little ease, Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise.
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Good, the more communicated, more abundant grows.
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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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And pomp, and feast, and revelry, With mask, and antique pageantry, Such sights as youthful poets dream On summer eves by haunted stream. Then to the well-trod stage anon, If Jonson's learned sock be on, Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child, Warble his native wood-notes wild, And ever, against eating cares, Lap me in soft Lydian airs, Married to immortal verse Such as the meeting soul may pierce, In notes with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out.