John Milton Quotes
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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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What hath night to do with sleep?
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The great Emathian conqueror bid spareThe house of Pindarus, when temple and towerWent to the ground.
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A good book is the precious lifeblood of a master spirit.
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Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with theeJest, and youthful jollity,Quips and cranks and wanton wiles,Nods and becks and wreathèd smiles.
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Untwisting all the chains that tieThe hidden soul of harmony.
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There are no songs comparable to the songs of Zion, no orations equal to those of the prophets, and no politics like those which the Scriptures teach.
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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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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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Death is the golden key that opens the palace of eternity.
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And add to these retired Leisure, That in trim gardens take his pleasure.
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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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Beholding the bright countenance of truth in the quiet and still air of delightful studies.
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Seas wept from our deep sorrows.
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And to the faithful: death, the gate of life.
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License they mean when they cry, Liberty!For who loves that must first be wise and good.
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Should God create another Eve, and I Another Rib afford, yet loss of thee Would never from my heart; no no, I feel The Link of Nature draw me: Flesh of Flesh, Bone of my Bone thou art, and from thy State Mine never shall be parted, bliss or woe.
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Yet from those flames No light, but rather darkness visible.
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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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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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So may'st thou live, till like ripe fruit thou drop Into thy mother's lap, or be with ease Gathered, not harshly plucked, for death mature: This is old age; but then thou must outlive Thy youth, thy strength, thy beauty, which will change To withered weak and grey.
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He who destroys a good book kills reason itself.
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In those vernal seasons of the year, when the air is calm and pleasant, it were an injury and sullenness against Nature not to go out, and see her riches, and partake in her rejoicing with heaven and earth.
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What in me is dark Illumine, what is low raise and support, That to the height of this great argument I may assert eternal Providence, And justify the ways of God to men.