John Milton Quotes
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And every shepherd tells his taleUnder the hawthorn in the dale.
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Attic tragedies of stateliest and most regal argument.
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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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Loneliness is the first thing which God's eye named not good.
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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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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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The whole freedom of man consists either in spiritual or civil liberty.
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Where more is meant than meets the ear.
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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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This manner of writing wherein knowing myself inferior to myself? I have the use, as I may account it, but of my left hand.
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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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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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Evil on itself shall back recoil.
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The gadding vine.
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A boundless continent, Dark, waste, and wild, under the frown of night Starless expos'd.
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Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth.
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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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From morn To noon he fell, from noon to dewy eve,- A summer's day; and with the setting sun Dropp'd from the Zenith like a falling star.
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Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts And eloquence.
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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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Death is the golden key that opens the palace of eternity.
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Beauty is God's handwriting-a wayside sacrament.
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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.
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Hope elevates, and joy Brightens his crest.