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Love-quarrels oft in pleasing concord end.
John Milton
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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Concord
Pleasing
Quarrels
Ends
Love
More quotes by John Milton
This manner of writing wherein knowing myself inferior to myself? I have the use, as I may account it, but of my left hand.
John Milton
Among the writers of all ages, some deserve fame, and have it others neither have nor deserve it some have it, not deserving it others, though deserving it, yet totally miss it, or have it not equal to their deserts.
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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.
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Awake, arise or be for ever fall’n.
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Truth and understanding are not such wares as to be monopolized and traded in by tickets and statutes and standards. We must not think to make a staple commodity of all the knowledge in the land, to mark and license it like our broadcloth and our woolpacks.
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I sung of Chaos and Eternal Night, Taught by the heav'nly Muse to venture down The dark descent, and up to reascend.
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Yet much remains To conquer still peace hath her victories No less renowned then war, new foes arise Threatening to bind our souls with secular chains: Help us to save free conscience from the paw Of hireling wolves whose gospel is their maw.
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On a sudden open fly With impetuous recoil and jarring sound Th' infernal doors, and on their hinges grate Harsh thunder.
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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!
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Those whom reason hath equalled, force hath made supreme
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Good luck befriend thee, Son for at thy birth The fairy ladies danced upon the hearth.
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Arm the obdured breast with stubborn patience as with triple steel.
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And so sepúlchred in such pomp dost lie, That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.
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Earth felt the wound and Nature from her seat, Sighing through all her works, gave signs of woe That all was lost.
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Thence to the famous orators repair, Those ancient, whose resistless eloquence Wielded at will that fierce democratie, Shook the arsenal, and fulmin'd over Greece, To Macedon, and Artaxerxes' throne.
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For neither man nor angel can discern hypocrisy, the only evil that walks invisible, except to God alone.
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Be lowly wise: Think only what concerns thee and thy being.
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Our state cannot be severed, we are one, One flesh to lose thee were to lose myself.
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Truth is compared in Scripture to a streaming fountain if her waters flow not in perpetual progression, they sicken into a muddy pool of conformity and tradition.
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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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