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Death is the golden key that opens the palace of eternity.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Palaces
Memorial
Opens
Golden
Inscriptions
Eternity
Headstone
Keys
Gravestone
Death
Epitaph
Palace

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And to the faithful: death, the gate of life.
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We shall sooner have the fowl by hatching the egg than by smashing it. Abraham Lincoln, White House speech 11 April 1865. Or arm th' obdured breast With stubborn patience as with triple steel.
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So hand in hand they passed, the loveliest pair that ever since in love's embraces met -- Adam, the goodliest man of men since born his sons the fairest of her daughters Eve.
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The love-lorn nightingale nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well.
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Beyond is all abyss, eternity, whose end no eye can reach.
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Death ready stands to interpose his dart.
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Implied Subjection, but requir'd with gentle sway, And by her yielded, by him best receiv'd,- Yielded with coy submission, modest pride, And sweet, reluctant, amorous delay.
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Where glowing embers through the room Teach light to counterfeit a gloom.
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Spirits when they please Can either sex assume, or both.
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Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy In sceptred pall come sweeping by, Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line, Or the tale of Troy divine.
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Some say no evil thing that walks by night, In fog or fire, by lake or moorish fen, Blue meagre hag, or stubborn unlaid ghost That breaks his magic chains at curfew time, No goblin, or swart fairy of the mine, Hath hurtful power o'er true virginity.
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My heart contains of good, wise, just, the perfect shape.
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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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God shall be all in all.
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Rhime being no necessary Adjunct or true Ornament of Poem or good Verse, in longer Works especially, but the Invention of a barbarous Age, to set off wretched matter and lame Meeter...the troublesom and modern bondage of Rimeing.
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Who can enjoy alone? Or all enjoying what contentment find?
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Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot Which men call earth.
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And if by prayer Incessant I could hope to change the will Of Him who all things can, I would not cease To weary Him with my assiduous cries.
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Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye, in every gesture dignity and love.
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It was the winter wild, While the Heaven-born child, All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies.
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