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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
Emotion
Grudges
Cathartic
Grudge
Pointless
Jealousy
Negative
Hold

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Nothing lovelier can be found In woman, than to study household good, And good works in her husband to promote.
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Th'invention all admir'd, and each, how he to be th'inventor miss'd so easy it seem'd once found, which yet unfound most would have thought impossible.
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The pious and just honoring of ourselves may be thought the fountainhead from whence every laudable and worthy enterprise issues forth.
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Truth and understanding are not such wares as to be monopolized and traded in by tickets and statutes and standards. We must not think to make a staple commodity of all the knowledge in the land, to mark and license it like our broadcloth and our woolpacks.
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Let us seek Death, or he not found, supply With our own hands his office on ourselves Why stand we longer shivering under fears, That show no end but death, and have the power, Of many ways to die the shortest choosing, Destruction with destruction to destroy.
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Fear of change perplexes monarchs.
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True it is that covetousness is rich, modesty starves.
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Beauty is Nature's coin, must not be hoarded, But must be current, and the good thereof Consists in mutual and partaken bliss.
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Gratitude bestows reverence, allowing us to encounter everyday epiphanies, those transcendent moments of awe that change forever how we experience life and the world.
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Knowledge forbidden? Suspicious, reasonless. Why should their Lord Envy them that? Can it be sin to know, Can it be death? And do they only stand By ignorance? Is that their happy state, The proof of their obedience and their faith? O fair foundation laid whereon to build Their ruin!
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On the tawny sands and shelves trip the pert fairies and the dapper elves.
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Come and trip it as ye go On the light fantastic toe.
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So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning sky.
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Heaven, the seat of bliss, Brooks not the works of violence and war.
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The love-lorn nightingale nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well.
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O Conscience, into what abyss of fears And horrors hast thou driven me, out of which I find no way, from deep to deeper plunged.
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And grace that won who saw to wish her stay.
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From haunted spring and dale Edg'd with poplar pale The parting genius is with sighing sent.
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Time, though in Eternity, applied To motion, measures all things durable By present, past, and future.
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To live a life half dead, a living death.
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