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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
Life
False
Deeds
Deny
Integrity
Sufferance
Silence
Accusers
Honest
Dishonest
Words
Apology
Best
Patience

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Courage never to submit of yield.
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The end of all learning is to know God, and out of that knowledge to love and imitate Him.
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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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And fast by, hanging in a golden chain, This pendent world, in bigness as a star Of smallest magnitude, close by the moon.
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Yet beauty, though injurious, hath strange power, After offence returning, to regain Love once possess'd.
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We read not that Christ ever exercised force but once and that was to drive profane ones out of his Temple, not to force them in.
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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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Dim eclipse, disastrous twilight.
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If weakness may excuse, What murderer, what traitor, parricide, Incestuous, sacrilegious, but may plead it? All wickedness is weakness that plea, therefore, With God or man will gain thee no remission.
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Man hath his daily work of body or mind Appointed.
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There are no songs comparable to the songs of Zion, no orations equal to those of the prophets, and no politics like those which the Scriptures teach.
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I did but prompt the age to quit their clogs By the known rules of ancient liberty, When straight a barbarous noise environs me Of owls and cuckoos, asses, apes and dogs.
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Thou canst not touch the freedom of my mind.
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United thoughts and counsels, equal hope And hazard in the glorious enterprise.
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What boots it at one gate to make defence, And at another to let in the foe?
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And some are fall'n, to disobedience fall'n, And so from Heav'n to deepest Hell O fall From what high state of bliss into what woe!
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Spirits when they please Can either sex assume, or both.
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Yet some there be that by due steps aspire To lay their just hands on that golden key That opes the palace of Eternity.
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A dungeon horrible, on all sides round, As one great furnace, flamed yet from those flames No light, but rather darkness visible Serv'd only to discover sights of woe, Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace And rest can never dwell, hope never comes That comes to all but torture without end.
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How often from the steep Of echoing hill or thicket have we heard Celestial voices to the midnight air, Sole, or responsive each to other's note, Singing their great Creator?
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