Quote

Don't hold grudges it's pointless. Jealousy too is a non-cathartic, negative emotion. .

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Grudges
Cathartic
Grudge
Pointless
Jealousy
Negative
Hold
Emotion

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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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Lethe, the river of oblivion, rolls his watery labyrinth, which whoso drinks forgets both joy and grief.
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Anon out of the earth a fabric huge Rose, like an exhalation.
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Infinity is a dark illimitable ocean, without bound.
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Here the great art lies, to discern in what the law is to be to restraint and punishment, and in what things persuasion only is to work.
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Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely: and pined his loss
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None But such as are good men can give good things, And that which is not good, is not delicious To a well-govern'd and wise appetite.
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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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Let no man seek Henceforth to be foretold that shall befall Him or his children.
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United thoughts and counsels, equal hope And hazard in the glorious enterprise.
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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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A short retirement urges a sweet return.
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Angels contented with their face in heaven, Seek not the praise of men.
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If this fail, The pillar'd firmament is rottenness, And earth's base built on stubble.
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And now without redemption all mankind Must have been lost, adjudged to death and hell By doom severe.
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My mansion is, where those immortal shapes Of bright aerial spirits live insphered In regions mild of calm and serene air, Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot Which men call Earth.
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Rocks whereon greatest men have oftest wreck'd.
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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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And to the faithful: death, the gate of life.
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These eyes, tho' clear To outward view of blemish or of spot, Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot, Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year, Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not Against Heaven's hand or will, not bate a jot Of heart or hope but still bear up and steer Right onward.
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