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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
Hard
Shape
Long
Shapes
Love
Harder
Life
Strength
Virtue
Valour
Wisdom
Inherit
Winning
Wit
Woman
Merit

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Who aspires must down as low As high he soar'd.
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Let none admire that riches grow in hell that soil may best deserve the precious bane.
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If there be any difference among professed believers as to the sense of Scripture, it is their duty to tolerate such difference in each other, until God shall have revealed the truth to all.
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He that has light within his own clear breast May sit in the centre, and enjoy bright day: But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts Benighted walks under the mid-day sun Himself his own dungeon.
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And so sepúlchred in such pomp dost lie, That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.
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The gay motes that people the sunbeams.
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Thy actions to thy words accord thy words To thy large heart give utterance due thy heart Contains of good, wise, just, the perfect shape.
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To be blind is not miserable not to be able to bear blindness, that is miserable.
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O fairest of creation, last and best Of all God's works, creature in whom excelled Whatever can to sight or thought be formed, Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet! How art thou lost, how on a sudden lost, Defaced, deflow'red, and now to death devote? Paradise Lost
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Wherefore did Nature pour her bounties forth With such a full and unwithdrawing hand, Covering the earth with odours, fruits, flocks, Thronging the seas with spawn innumerable, But all to please and sate the curious taste?
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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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Hung over her enamour'd, and beheld Beauty, which, whether waking or asleep, Shot forth peculiar graces.
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And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet, Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet.
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The Tree of Knowledge grew fast by, Knowledge of Good bought dear by knowing ill.
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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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The never-ending flight Of future days.
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Books are not absolutely dead things, but do contain a potency of life in them....I know they are as lively and as vigorously productive as those fabulous dragon's teeth and being sown up and down, may chance to spring up armed men.
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Till old experience do attain To something like prophetic strain.
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Where there is much desire to learn, there of necessity will be much arguing, much writing, for opinion in good men is but knowledge in the making.
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Dark with excessive bright.
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