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It is not virtue, wisdom, valour, wit, Strength, comeliness of shape, or amplest merit, That woman's love can win, or long inherit But what it is, hard is to say, Harder to hit.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Wisdom
Inherit
Winning
Wit
Woman
Merit
Hard
Shape
Long
Shapes
Love
Harder
Life
Strength
Virtue
Valour

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O visions ill foreseen! Better had I Liv'd ignorant of future, so had borne My part of evil only.
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Truth is as impossible to be soiled by any outward touch as the sunbeam.
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Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy In sceptred pall come sweeping by, Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line, Or the tale of Troy divine.
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So on this windy sea of land, the Fiend Walked up and down alone bent on his prey.
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Biochemically, love is just like eating large amounts of chocolate.
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Nor aught availed him now to have built in heaven high towers nor did he scrape by all his engines, but was headlong sent with his industrious crew to build in hell.
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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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Man hath his daily work of body or mind Appointed.
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Courage never to submit of yield.
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First Moloch, horrid king, besmirched in blood, Of Human sacrifice, and parent's tears, Though, for the noise of drums and timbrels loud, Their childrens' cries unheard, that passed through fire, To his grim idol.
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Oft, on a plat of rising ground, I hear the far-off curfew sound Over some wide-watered shore, Swinging low with sullen roar.
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What better can we do than prostrate fall before Him reverent, and there confess humbly our faults, and pardon beg with tears watering the ground?
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Ink is the blood of the printing-press.
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Dim eclipse, disastrous twilight.
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... then there was war in heaven. But it was not angels. It was that small golden zeppelin, like a long oval world, high up. It seemed as if the cosmic order were gone, as if there had come a new order, a new heavens above us: and as if the world in anger were trying to revoke it.
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Abash'd the Devil stood, And felt how awful goodness is.
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What honour that, But tedious waste of time, to sit and hear So many hollow compliments and lies.
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Live while ye may, Yet happy pair.
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For so I created them free and free they must remain.
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They eat, they drink, and in communion sweet Quaff immortality and joy.
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