John Milton Quotes
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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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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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What hath night to do with sleep?
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Seas wept from our deep sorrows.
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He who destroys a good book kills reason itself.
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Apt words have power to suage the tumors of a troubled mind.
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The great Emathian conqueror bid spareThe house of Pindarus, when temple and towerWent to the ground.
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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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Virtue that wavers is not virtue.
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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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Untwisting all the chains that tieThe hidden soul of harmony.
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A good book is the precious lifeblood of a master spirit.
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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.
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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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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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The bird of Jove, stoop'd from his aery tour, Two birds of gayest plume before him drove.
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The gadding vine.
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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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Who kills a man kills a reasonable creature, God's image, but thee who destroys a good book, kills reason its self.
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And add to these retired Leisure, That in trim gardens take his pleasure.
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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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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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Take heed lest passion sway Thy judgement to do aught, which else free will Would not admit.
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Beholding the bright countenance of truth in the quiet and still air of delightful studies.