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I will not deny but that the best apology against false accusers is silence and sufferance, and honest deeds set against dishonest words.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Integrity
Sufferance
Silence
Accusers
Honest
Dishonest
Words
Apology
Best
Patience
Life
False
Deeds
Deny

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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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Time, though in Eternity, applied To motion, measures all things durable By present, past, and future.
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Heav'nly love shall outdoo Hellish hate
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Spirits that live throughout, Vital in every part, not as frail man, In entrails, heart or head, liver or reins, Cannot but by annihilating die.
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Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot Which men call earth.
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A good principle not rightly understood may prove as hurtful as a bad.
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And to the faithful: death, the gate of life.
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Necessity and chance Approach not me, and what I will is fate.
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What reinforcement we may gain from hope If not, what resolution from despair.
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And the earth self-balanced on her centre hung.
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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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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.
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Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old, When all our fathers worshipp'd stocks and stones.
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The world was all before them, where to choose Their place of rest, and Providence their guide: They hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow, Through Eden took their solitary way.
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Believe and be confirmed.
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O welcome pure-eyed Faith, white handed Hope, Thou hovering angel girt with golden wings.
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Boast not of what thou would'st have done, but do.
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In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds On half the nations, and with fear of change Perplexes monarchs.
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Arm the obdured breast with stubborn patience as with triple steel.
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Beyond is all abyss, eternity, whose end no eye can reach.
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