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A good book is the precious lifeblood of a master spirit.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Reading
Spirit
Book
Good
Lifeblood
Precious
Master
Masters

More quotes by John Milton

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With thee conversing I forget all time.
John Milton
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Behold now this vast city [London] a city of refuge, the mansion-house of liberty, encompassed and surrounded with His protection.
John Milton
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Our state cannot be severed, we are one, One flesh to lose thee were to lose myself.
John Milton
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Nor think thou with wind Of æry threats to awe whom yet with deeds Thou canst not.
John Milton
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But let my due feet never fail To walk the studious cloisters pale, And love the high embowed roof, With antique pillars massy proof, And storied windows richly dight Casting a dim religious light.
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Who can in reason then or right assume monarchy over such as live by right his equals, if in power or splendor less, in freedom equal?
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Thy actions to thy words accord thy words To thy large heart give utterance due thy heart Contains of good, wise, just, the perfect shape.
John Milton
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Oh, shame to men! devil with devil damn'd Firm concord holds, men only disagree Of creatures rational.
John Milton
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Dim eclipse, disastrous twilight.
John Milton
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Let none admire that riches grow in hell that soil may best deserve the precious bane.
John Milton
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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.
John Milton
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Those whom reason hath equalled, force hath made supreme
John Milton
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A dungeon horrible, on all sides round, As one great furnace, flamed yet from those flames No light, but rather darkness visible Serv'd only to discover sights of woe, Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace And rest can never dwell, hope never comes That comes to all but torture without end.
John Milton
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Good luck befriend thee, Son for at thy birth The fairy ladies danced upon the hearth.
John Milton
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O sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams That bring to my remembrance from what state I fell, how glorious once above thy sphere.
John Milton
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His sleep Was aery light, from pure digestion bred.
John Milton
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In argument with men a woman ever Goes by the worse, whatever be her cause.
John Milton
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How sweetly did they float upon the wings Of silence through the empty-vaulted night, At every fall smoothing the raven down Of darkness till it smiled!
John Milton
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Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye, in every gesture dignity and love.
John Milton
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And may at last my weary age Find out the peaceful hermitage, The hairy gown and mossy cell, Where I may sit and rightly spell Of every star that heaven doth shew, And every herb that sips the dew, Till old experience to attain To something like prophetic strain.
John Milton