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Our cure, to be no more sad cure!

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Cure
Cures

More quotes by John Milton

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And now without redemption all mankind Must have been lost, adjudged to death and hell By doom severe.
John Milton
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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.
John Milton
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And fast by, hanging in a golden chain, This pendent world, in bigness as a star Of smallest magnitude, close by the moon.
John Milton
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Tis chastity, my brother, chastity She that has that is clad in complete steel, And, like a quiver'd nymph with arrows keen, May trace huge forests, and unharbour'd heaths, Infamous hills, and sandy perilous wilds Where, through the sacred rays of chastity, No savage fierce, bandite, or mountaineer, Will dare to soil her virgin purity.
John Milton
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These evils I deserve, and more . . . . Justly, yet despair not of his final pardon, Whose ear is ever open, and his eye Gracious to re-admit the suppliant.
John Milton
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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.
John Milton
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To many a youth and many a maid, dancing in the chequer'd shade.
John Milton
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Luck is the residue of design.
John Milton
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Beauty is God's handwriting-a wayside sacrament.
John Milton
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But pain is perfect misery, the worst Of evils, and excessive, overturns All patience.
John Milton
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Our country is where ever we are well off.
John Milton
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Hung over her enamour'd, and beheld Beauty, which, whether waking or asleep, Shot forth peculiar graces.
John Milton
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And storied windows richly dight, Casting a dim religious light.
John Milton
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There is no Christian duty that is not to be seasoned and set off with cheerishness, which in a thousand outward and intermitting crosses may yet be done well, as in this vale of tears.
John Milton
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Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old, When all our fathers worshipp'd stocks and stones.
John Milton
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How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, stolen on his wing my three-and-twentieth year!
John Milton
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Eloquence the soul, song charms the senses.
John Milton
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Angels contented with their face in heaven, Seek not the praise of men.
John Milton
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Her silent course advance With inoffensive pace, that spinning sleeps On her soft axle.
John Milton
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And sing to those that hold the vital shears And turn the adamantine spindle round, On which the fate of gods and men is wound.
John Milton