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Abash'd the Devil stood, And felt how awful goodness is.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Crow
Stood
Awful
Goodness
Devil
Felt

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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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The planets in their station list'ning stood.
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Me miserable! Which way shall I fly Infinite wrath and infinite despair? Which way I fly is hell myself am hell And in the lowest deep a lower deep, Still threat'ning to devour me, opens wide, To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven.
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So on this windy sea of land, the Fiend Walked up and down alone bent on his prey.
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Books are not absolutely dead things, but do contain a potency of life in them....I know they are as lively and as vigorously productive as those fabulous dragon's teeth and being sown up and down, may chance to spring up armed men.
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Till old experience do attain To something like prophetic strain.
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Which way I fly is Hell myself am Hell.
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Who kills a man kills a reasonable creature, God's image but he who destroys a good book, kills reason itself, kills the image of God, as it were, in the eye.
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The redundant locks, robustious to no purpose, clustering down--vast monument of strength.
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But that from us aught should ascend to Heav'n So prevalent as to concern the mind Of God, high-bless'd, or to incline His will, Hard to belief may seem yet this will prayer.
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Man hath his daily work of body or mind Appointed.
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Hail, wedded love, mysterious law true source of human happiness.
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So may'st thou live, till like ripe fruit thou drop Into thy mother's lap, or be with ease Gathered, not harshly plucked, for death mature: This is old age but then thou must outlive Thy youth, thy strength, thy beauty, which will change To withered weak and grey.
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A limbo large and broad, since call'd The Paradise of Fools to few unknown.
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Zeal and duty are not slow But on occasion's forelock watchful wait.
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Eloquence the soul, song charms the senses.
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Virtue that wavers is not virtue.
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Biochemically, love is just like eating large amounts of chocolate.
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For the air of youth, Hopeful and cheerful, in thy blood will reign A melancholy damp of cold and dry To weigh thy spirits down, and last consume The balm of life.
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And as an ev'ning dragon came, Assailant on the perched roosts And nests in order rang'd Of tame villatic fowl.
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