John Milton Quotes
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Taste this, and be henceforth among the Gods thyself a Goddess.
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Take heed lest passion sway Thy judgement to do aught, which else free will Would not admit.
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The mind is its own place and in itself, can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.
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Seas wept from our deep sorrows.
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Infinity is a dark illimitable ocean, without bound.
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Spirits that live throughout, Vital in every part, not as frail man, In entrails, heart or head, liver or reins, Cannot but by annihilating die.
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There is no learned man but will confess be hath much profited by reading controversies,--his senses awakened, his judgment sharpened, and the truth which he holds firmly established. If then it be profitable for him to read, why should it not at least be tolerable and free for his adversary to write? In logic they teach that contraries laid together, more evidently appear; it follows then, that all controversy being permitted, falsehood will appear more false, and truth the more true; which must needs conduce much to the general confirmation of an implicit truth.
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Under the opening eyelids of the morn,We drove afield; and both together heardWhat time the gray-fly winds her sultry horn,Batt'ning our flocks with the fresh dews of night.
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Better to reign in hell than serve in heav'n.
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The bird of Jove, stoop'd from his aery tour, Two birds of gayest plume before him drove.
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He who destroys a good book kills reason itself.
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And yet on the other hand unless warinesse be us'd, as good almost kill a Man as kill a good Book; who kills a Man kills a reasonable creature, Gods Image, but hee who destroyes a good Booke, kills reason it selfe, kills the Image of God, as it were in the eye.
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Apt words have power to suage the tumors of a troubled mind.
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If weakness may excuse, What murderer, what traitor, parricide, Incestuous, sacrilegious, but may plead it? All wickedness is weakness; that plea, therefore, With God or man will gain thee no remission.
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Extol not riches then, the toil of fools, The wise man's cumbrance, if not snare, more apt To slacken virtue, and abate her edge, Than prompt her to do aught may merit praise.
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These evils I deserve, and more . . . . Justly, yet despair not of his final pardon, Whose ear is ever open, and his eye Gracious to re-admit the suppliant.
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More safe I sing with mortal voice, unchang'd To hoarse or mute, though fall'n on evil days, On evil days though fall'n, and evil tongues.
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Ere the blabbing eastern scout, The nice morn, on th' Indian steep From her cabin'd loop-hole peep.
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A good book is the precious lifeblood of a master spirit.
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I sat me down to watch upon a bank With ivy canopied and interwove With flaunting honeysuckle.
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There is no Christian duty that is not to be seasoned and set off with cheerishness, which in a thousand outward and intermitting crosses may yet be done well, as in this vale of tears.
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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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Nothing lovelier can be found In woman, than to study household good, And good works in her husband to promote.
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What hath night to do with sleep?