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Midnight brought on the dusky hour Friendliest to sleep and silence.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Brought
Silence
Sleep
Hours
Friendliest
Dusky
Midnight
Hour

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Yet some there be that by due steps aspire To lay their just hands on that golden key That opes the palace of Eternity.
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Man hath his daily work of body or mind Appointed.
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Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, With charm of earliest birds.
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Rhime being no necessary Adjunct or true Ornament of Poem or good Verse, in longer Works especially, but the Invention of a barbarous Age, to set off wretched matter and lame Meeter...the troublesom and modern bondage of Rimeing.
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True it is that covetousness is rich, modesty starves.
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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?
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Sole reigning holds the tyranny of Heav'n.
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All is not lost, the unconquerable will, and study of revenge, immortal hate, and the courage never to submit or yield.
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Who aspires must down as low As high he soar'd.
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Of calling shapes, and beck'ning shadows dire, And airy tongues that syllable men's names.
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As children gath'ring pebbles on the shore. Or if I would delight my private hours With music or with poem, where so soon As in our native language can I find That solace?
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And grace that won who saw to wish her stay.
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In argument with men a woman ever Goes by the worse, whatever be her cause.
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It is Chastity, my brother. She that has that is clad in complete steel.
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To live a life half dead, a living death.
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Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts And eloquence.
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The end then of learning is to repair the ruins of our first parents by regaining to know God aright, and out of that knowledge to love him, to imitate him, to be like him, as we may the nearest by possessing our souls of true virtue, which being united to the heavenly grace of faith makes up the highest perfection.
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The earth, though in comparison of heaven so small, nor glistering, may of solid good contain more plenty than the sun, that barren shines.
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Beauty is God's handwriting-a wayside sacrament.
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