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All is not lost, the unconquerable will, and study of revenge, immortal hate, and the courage never to submit or yield.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Hate
Lost
Unconquerable
Never
Submit
Yield
Immortal
Revenge
Courage
Study

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A short retirement urges a sweet return.
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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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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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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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God shall be all in all.
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What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice, Of Attic taste?
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This is servitude, To serve th'unwise, or him who hath rebelled Against his worthier, as thine now serve thee, Thyself not free, but to thyself enthralled.
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Anarchy is the sure consequence of tyranny for no power that is not limited by laws can ever be protected by them.
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Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail Or knock the breast, no weakness, no contempt, Dispraise, or blame,-nothing but well and fair, And what may quiet us in a death so noble.
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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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The conquer'd, also, and enslaved by war, Shall, with their freedom lost, all virtue lose.
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To know that which lies before us in daily life is the prime wisdom.
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Who can enjoy alone? Or all enjoying what contentment find?
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Of calling shapes, and beck'ning shadows dire, And airy tongues that syllable men's names.
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And what is faith, love, virtue unassayed Alone, without exterior help sustained?
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For Solomon, he lived at ease, and full Of honour, wealth, high fare, aimed not beyond Higher design than to enjoy his state.
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Who, as they sung, would take the prison'd soul And lap it in Elysium.
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Now came still evening on and twilight gray Had in her sober livery all things clad: Silence accompanied for beast and bird, They to they grassy couch, these to their nests, Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale.
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Our cure, to be no more sad cure!
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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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