John Milton Quotes
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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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Death is the golden key that opens the palace of eternity.
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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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And join with thee, calm Peace and Quiet,Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet.
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Where more is meant than meets the ear.
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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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With a smile that glow'd Celestial rosy red, love's proper hue.
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For to interpose a little ease, Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise.
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Into this wild abyss, The womb of Nature and perhaps her grave.
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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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Truth never comes into the world but like a bastard, to the ignominy of him that brought her birth.
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But let my due feet never fail To walk the studious cloisters pale, And love the high embowed roof, With antique pillars massy proof, And storied windows richly dight; Casting a dim religious light.
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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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These two imparadised in one another's arms, the happier Eden, shall enjoy their fill of bliss on bliss.
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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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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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Let no man seek Henceforth to be foretold that shall befall Him or his children.
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The pious and just honoring of ourselves may be thought the fountainhead from whence every laudable and worthy enterprise issues forth.
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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.
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No mighty trance, or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
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The gadding vine.
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A gulf profound as that Serbonian bog Betwixt Damiata and Mount Casius old, Where armies whole have sunk: the parching air Burns frore, and cold performs th' effect of fire. Thither by harpy-footed Furies hal'd, At certain revolutions all the damn'd Are brought, and feel by turns the bitter change Of fierce extremes,-extremes by change more fierce; From beds of raging fire to starve in ice Their soft ethereal warmth, and there to pine Immovable, infix'd, and frozen round, Periods of time; thence hurried back to fire.
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Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son
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Praise from an enemy smells of craft.