John Milton Quotes
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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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Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose.
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Beholding the bright countenance of truth in the quiet and still air of delightful studies.
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See golden days, fruitful of golden deeds, With joy and love triumphing.
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Yet from those flames No light, but rather darkness visible.
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Who kills a man kills a reasonable creature, God's image; but he who destroys a good book, kills reason itself, kills the image of God, as it were, in the eye.
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He who destroys a good book kills reason itself.
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And to the faithful: death, the gate of life.
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The gadding vine.
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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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License they mean when they cry, Liberty!For who loves that must first be wise and good.
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With ruin upon ruin, rout on rout, Confusion worse confounded.
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Last came, and last did go,The Pilot of the Galilean lake;Two massy keys he bore of metals twain,(The golden opes, the iron shuts amain).
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Better to reign in hell than serve in heav'n.
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Let us descend now therefore from this top Of speculation.
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Believe and be confirmed.
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Accuse not nature: she hath done her part; Do thou but thine.
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The oracles are dumb, No voice or hideous humRuns through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine,With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving.No nightly trance or breathed spellInspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
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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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This is servitude, To serve th' unwise, or him who hath rebelled Against his worthier, as thine now serve thee, Thyself not free, but to thyself enthralled.
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Thou canst not touch the freedom of my mind.
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Or call up him that left half toldThe story of Cambuscan bold.
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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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With eyes Of conjugal attraction unreprov'd. Imparadised in one another's arms. With thee conversing I forget all time. And feel that I am happier than I know.