John Milton Quotes
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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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Thus Belial, with words clothed in reason's garb, counseled ignoble ease, and peaceful sloth, not peace.
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Fear of change perplexes monarchs.
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Praise from an enemy smells of craft.
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Consider first, that great or bright infers not excellence.
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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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Infinity is a dark illimitable ocean, without bound.
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A boundless continent, Dark, waste, and wild, under the frown of night Starless expos'd.
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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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As ever in my great Taskmaster's eye.
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Cedar, and pine, and fir, and branching palm, A sylvan scene, and as the ranks ascend Shade above shade, a woody theatre Of stateliest view.
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Fate shall yield To fickle Chance, and Chaos judge the strife.
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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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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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The whole freedom of man consists either in spiritual or civil liberty.
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On a sudden open fly With impetuous recoil and jarring sound Th' infernal doors, and on their hinges grate Harsh thunder.
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Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay To mould me man? Did I solicit thee From darkness to promote me?
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Mammon, the least erected spirit that fell >From heaven; for ev'n in heaven his looks and thoughts Were always downward bent, admiring more The riches of heaven's pavement, trodden gold, Than aught divine or holy else enjoy'd In vision beatific.
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Beauty is God's handwriting-a wayside sacrament.
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Then lies him down the lubber fiend,And stretched out all the chimney's length,Basks at the fire his hairy strength.
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They, looking back, all the eastern side beheld Of Paradise, so late their happy seat, Waved over by that flaming brand, the gate With dreadful faces thronged and fiery arms: Some natural tears they dropped, but wiped them soon;
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And sing to those that hold the vital shears; And turn the adamantine spindle round, On which the fate of gods and men is wound.
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Virtue that wavers is not virtue.
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Apt words have power to suage the tumors of a troubled mind.