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He that has light within his own clear breast May sit in the centre, and enjoy bright day: But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts Benighted walks under the mid-day sun Himself his own dungeon.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Walks
Hides
Within
Foul
Dark
Breast
Clear
Centre
Enjoy
Breasts
Benighted
Light
Bright
Dungeon
May
Sun
Bustle
Soul
Thoughts
Dungeons

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A boundless continent, Dark, waste, and wild, under the frown of night Starless expos'd.
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Ornate rhetorick taught out of the rule of Plato.... To which poetry would be made subsequent, or indeed rather precedent, as being less suttle and fine, but more simple, sensuous, and passionate.
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But God himself is truth in propagating which, as men display a greater integrity and zeal, they approach nearer to the similitude of God, and possess a greater portion of his love.
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No mighty trance, or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
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The teachers of our law, and to propose What might improve my knowledge or their own.
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Servant of God, well done! well hast thou fought The better fight, who single hast maintain'd Against revolted multitudes the cause of truth.
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He who tempts, though in vain, at last asperses The tempted with dishonor foul, supposed Not incorruptible of faith, not proof Against temptation.
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Hail holy light, offspring of heav'n firstborn!
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And the earth self-balanced on her centre hung.
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Let us descend now therefore from this top Of speculation.
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So dear I love him, that with him, all deaths I could endure, without him, live no life.
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I will not deny but that the best apology against false accusers is silence and sufferance, and honest deeds set against dishonest words.
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The conquer'd, also, and enslaved by war, Shall, with their freedom lost, all virtue lose.
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Fairy elves, Whose midnight revels by a forest side Or fountain some belated peasant sees, Or dreams he sees, while overhead the moon Sits arbitress.
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Meanwhile the Adversary of God and man, Satan with thoughts inflamed of highest design, Puts on swift wings, and towards the gates of hell Explores his solitary flight.
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Man hath his daily work of body or mind Appointed.
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Good luck befriend thee, Son for at thy birth The fairy ladies danced upon the hearth.
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Solitude sometimes is best society.
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The sun to me is dark And silent as the moon, When she deserts the night Hid in her vacant interlunar cave.
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