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But pain is perfect misery, the worst Of evils, and excessive, overturns All patience.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Pain
Overturns
Excessive
Evils
Patience
Misery
Worst
Perfect
Evil

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Beyond is all abyss, eternity, whose end no eye can reach.
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To be blind is not miserable not to be able to bear blindness, that is miserable.
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Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forced fingers rude Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year.
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The nodding horror of whose shady brows Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger.
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Thus I set my printless feet O'er the cowslip's velvet head, That bends not as I tread.
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Beauty is God's handwriting-a wayside sacrament.
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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.
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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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Seasoned life of man preserved and stored up in books.
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The love-lorn nightingale nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well.
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A good principle not rightly understood may prove as hurtful as a bad.
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Danger will wink on opportunity.
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And storied windows richly dight, Casting a dim religious light.
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Mutual love, the crown of all our bliss.
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His form had yet not lost All her original brightness, nor appear'd Less than archangel ruin'd, and th' excess Of glory obscur'd.
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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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O when meet now Such pairs, in love and mutual honour joined?
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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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His sleep Was aery light, from pure digestion bred.
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Assuredly we bring not innocence not the world, we bring impurity much rather: that which purifies us is trial, and trial is by what is contrary.
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