Quote

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

Change background

T
T
T

Change font

TAGS & TOPICS

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

More quotes by John Milton

Image
Which way I fly is Hell myself am Hell.
John Milton
Image
Boast not of what thou would'st have done, but do.
John Milton
Image
With ruin upon ruin, rout on rout, Confusion worse confounded.
John Milton
Image
Ask for this great deliverer now, and find him Eyeless in Gaza at the mill with slaves.
John Milton
Image
Temper justice with mercy.
John Milton
Image
Thus I set my printless feet O'er the cowslip's velvet head, That bends not as I tread.
John Milton
Image
This horror will grow mild, this darkness light Besides what hope the never-ending flight Of future days may bring, what chance, what change Worth waiting--since our present lot appears For happy though but ill, for ill not worst, If we procure not to ourselves more woe.
John Milton
Image
Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely: and pined his loss
John Milton
Image
The world was all before them, where to choose Their place of rest, and Providence their guide: They hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow, Through Eden took their solitary way.
John Milton
Image
Peace hath her victories, no less renowned than War.
John Milton
Image
Wisdom's self oft seeks to sweet retired solitude, where with her best nurse Contemplation, she plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings that in the various bustle of resort were all to-ruffled, and sometimes impaired.
John Milton
Image
For to interpose a little ease, Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise.
John Milton
Image
Courage never to submit of yield.
John Milton
Image
A dungeon horrible, on all sides round, As one great furnace, flamed yet from those flames No light, but rather darkness visible Serv'd only to discover sights of woe, Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace And rest can never dwell, hope never comes That comes to all but torture without end.
John Milton
Image
And that must end us, that must be our cure: To be no more. Sad cure! For who would lose, Though full of pain, this intellectual being, Those thoughts that wander through eternity, To perish, rather, swallowed up and lost In the wide womb of uncreated night Devoid of sense and motion?
John Milton
Image
A poet soaring in the high reason of his fancies, with his garland and singing robes about him.
John Milton
Image
Come and trip it as ye go On the light fantastic toe.
John Milton
Image
And grace that won who saw to wish her stay.
John Milton
Image
But O yet more miserable! Myself my sepulchre, a moving grave.
John Milton
Image
Heav'nly love shall outdoo Hellish hate
John Milton