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Nor love thy life, nor hate but what thou livest, Live well how long, or short, permit to Heaven.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Long
Permit
Love
Thou
Life
Short
Heaven
Hate
Live
Wells
Well

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Let us go forth and resolutely dare with sweat of brow to toil our little day.
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Calm of mind, all passion spent.
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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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With a smile that glow'd Celestial rosy red, love's proper hue.
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Let not England forget her precedence of teaching nations how to live.
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Abash'd the Devil stood, And felt how awful goodness is.
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What reinforcement we may gain from hope If not, what resolution from despair.
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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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Joking decides great things, Stronger and better oft than earnest can.
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Just are the ways of God, And justifiable to men Unless there be who think not God at all.
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It were a journey like the path to heaven, To help you find them.
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I on the other side Us'd no ambition to commend my deeds The deeds themselves, though mute, spoke loud the doer.
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Ink is the blood of the printing-press.
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Part of my soul I seek thee, and claim thee my other half
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Nor from hell One step no more than from himself can fly By change of place.
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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 leaf was darkish, and had prickles on it, But in another country, as he said, Bore a bright golden flow'r, but not in this soil Unknown, and like esteem'd, and the dull swain Treads on it daily with his clouted shoon.
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Mutual love, the crown of all our bliss.
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But let my due feet never fail To walk the studious cloisters pale, And love the high embowed roof, With antique pillars massy proof, And storied windows richly dight Casting a dim religious light.
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Who kills a man kills a reasonable creature, God's image but he who destroys a good book, kills reason itself, kills the image of God, as it were, in the eye.
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