John Milton Quotes (574 Quotes)

If this fail, The pillar'd firmament is rottenness, And earth's base built on stubble.

How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, stolen on his wing my three-and-twentieth year

He who destroys a good book kills reason itself.

From haunted spring and dale Edg'd with poplar pale The parting genius is with sighing sent.

Hell Grew darker at their frown.

The first and wisest of them all professed To know this only, that he nothing knew.

Death Grinn'd horrible a ghastly smile, to hear His famine should be fill'd.

Love led them on; and Faith, who knew them best
Thy handmaids, clad them o'er with purple beams
And azure wings, that up they flew so drest,
And speak the truth of thee on glorious themes
Before the Judge; who henceforth bid thee rest,
And drink thy fill of pure immortal streams.

I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forc'd fingers rude Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year.

In discourse more sweet For eloquence the soul, song charms the sense. Others apart sat on a hill retir'd, In thoughts more elevate, and reason'd high Of providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate, Fix'd fate, free-will, foreknowledge absolute And found no end, in wand'ring mazes lost.

It is not miserable to be blind it is miserable to be incapable of enduring blindness.

Sabean odours from the spicy shore Of Araby the Blest.

Oft he seems to hide his face, But unexpectedly returns And to his faithful champion hath in place Bore witness gloriously.

And do they only stand
By ignorance?

The sum of earthly bliss.

Another morn Ris'n on mid-noon.

Midnight brought on the dusky hour Friendliest to sleep and silence.

Fill'd the air with barbarous dissonance.

Sweet bird, that shun'st the noise of folly, Most musical, most melancholy.

O welcome, pure-ey'd Faith, white-handed Hope, Thou hovering angel, girt with golden wings.

Thrones, Dominations, Princedoms, Virtues, Powers.

Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot Which men call earth.

As good almost kill a man as kill a good book who kills a man kills a reasonable creature, Gods image but he who destroys a good book, kills reason itself, kills the image of God, as it were in the eye.

To whom the patriarch of mankind replied.

Lord how many are my foes
How many those
That in arms against me rise
Many are they
That of my life distrustfully thus say,
No help for him in God there lies.

A heaven on earth.

I fled, and cryd out, Death Hell trembled at the hideous name, and sighd From all her caves, and back resounded, Death.

Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose.

Thoughts that voluntary move Harmonious numbers.

What call thou solitude Is not the earth with various living creatures, and the air replenished, and all these at thy command to come and play before thee

Now half appear'd The tawny lion, pawing to get free His hinder parts.

None can love freedom heartily, but good men; the rest love not freedom, but licence.

It was the winter wild, While the Heaven-born child, All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies.

There swift return Diurnal, merely to officiate light Round this opacous earth, this punctual spot.

Truth is compared in Scripture to a streaming fountain if her waters flow not in a perpetual progression, they sicken into a muddy pool of conformity and tradition.

Come, knit hands, and beat the ground, in a light fantastic round.

Under the shady roof Of branching elm star-proof.

Son of Heaven and Earth,
Attend!

But have I now seen Death?

Cyriac, whose grandsire on the royal bench Of British Themis, with no mean applause Pronounced and in his volumes taught our laws, Which others at their bar so often wrench Today deep thoughts resolve with me to drench In mirth, that after no repenting draws Let Euclid rest and Archimedes pause, And what the Swede intends, and what the French. To measure life learn thou betimes, and know Toward solid good what leads the nearest way For other things mild Heav'n a time ordains, And disapproves that care, though wise in show, That with superfluous burden loads the day, And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.

To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, Or with the tangles of Nera's hair.

When the gust hath blown his fill, Ending on the rustling leaves With minute drops from off the eaves.

I fled, and cried out Death!

When I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest He returning chide, 'Doth God exact day-labour, light denied' I fondly ask But patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies 'God doth not need Either man's work or his own gifts. Who best Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best. His state Is kingly thousands at His bidding speed And post o'er land and ocean without rest They also serve who only stand and wait.'

Where peace And rest can never dwell, hope never comes That comes to all.

Since call'd The Paradise of Fools, to few unknown.

So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning sky.

As an engineer, I feel it's at a point we should be concerned, ... We're taking risks already. I don't like relying on nature not to do something.

O loss of sight, of thee I most complain Blind among enemies, O worse than chains, dungeon or beggary, or decrepit age Light, the prime work of God, to me is extinct, and all her various objects of delight annulled, which might in part my grief have eased. Inferior to the vilest now become of man or worm the vilest here excel me, they creep, yet see I, dark in light, exposed to daily fraud, contempt, abuse and wrong, within doors, or without, still as a fool, in power of others, never in my own scarce half I seem to live, dead more than half.

Or wert thou that sweet smiling Youth!