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The childhood shows the man As morning shows the day. Be famous then By wisdom as thy empire must extend, So let extend thy mind o'er all the world.
John Milton
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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Men
Famous
World
Ambition
Childhood
Wisdom
Morning
Shows
Extend
Must
Empire
Mind
Empires
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O welcome pure-eyed Faith, white handed Hope, Thou hovering angel girt with golden wings.
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All seemed well pleased, all seemed, but were not all.
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Law can discover sin, but not remove, Save by those shadowy expiations weak.
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Fame is the last infirmity of the human mind.
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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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Hide me from day's garish eye, While the bee with honied thigh, That at her flowery work doth sing, And the waters murmuring With such consort as they keep, Entice the dewy-feathered sleep.
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Servant of God, well done! well hast thou fought The better fight, who single hast maintain'd Against revolted multitudes the cause of truth.
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With ruin upon ruin, rout on rout, Confusion worse confounded.
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In discourse more sweet For eloquence the soul, song charms the sense. Others apart sat on a hill retir'd, In thoughts more elevate, and reason'd high Of providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate, Fix'd fate, free-will, foreknowledge absolute And found no end, in wand'ring mazes lost.
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Biochemically, love is just like eating large amounts of chocolate.
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There is no Christian duty that is not to be seasoned and set off with cheerishness, which in a thousand outward and intermitting crosses may yet be done well, as in this vale of tears.
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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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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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So dear I love him, that with him, all deaths I could endure, without him, live no life.
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Dark with excessive bright.
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Extol not riches then, the toil of fools, The wise man's cumbrance, if not snare, more apt To slacken virtue, and abate her edge, Than prompt her to do aught may merit praise.
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Hail, holy light! offspring of heaven firstborn! Or of th' eternal co-eternal beam, May I express thee unblam'd? since God is light And never but in unapproached light Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee, Bright effluence of bright essence increate!
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