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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.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Men
Knowledge
Peace
Learn
Desire
Necessity
Making
Arguing
Writing
Harmony
Much
Learning
Good
Opinion

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. . . for beauty stands In the admiration only of weak minds Led captive. Cease to admire, and all her plumes Fall flat and shrink into a trivial toy, At every sudden slighting quite abash'd.
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Only add Deeds to thy knowledge answerable, add faith, Add virtue, patience, temperance, add love, By name to come call'd charity, the soul Of all the rest then wilt thou not be loath To leave this Paradise, but shall possess A Paradise within thee, happier far.
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The debt immense of endless gratitude, So burthensome, still paying, still to owe Forgetful what from him I still receivd, And understood not that a grateful mind By owing owes not, but still pays, at once Indebted and dischargd what burden then?
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Where no hope is left, is left no fear.
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Evil into the mind of god or man may come and go, so unapproved, and leave no spot or blame behind.
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They who have put out the people's eyes reproach them of their blindness.
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From haunted spring and dale Edg'd with poplar pale The parting genius is with sighing sent.
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Virtue hath no tongue to check vice's pride.
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Part of my soul I seek thee, and claim thee my other half
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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.
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The planets in their station list'ning stood.
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Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail Or knock the breast, no weakness, no contempt, Dispraise, or blame,-nothing but well and fair, And what may quiet us in a death so noble.
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Blind mouths! That scarce themselves know how to hold A sheep-hook.
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A good book is the precious lifeblood of a master spirit.
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Boast not of what thou would'st have done, but do.
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Tis chastity, my brother, chastity She that has that is clad in complete steel, And, like a quiver'd nymph with arrows keen, May trace huge forests, and unharbour'd heaths, Infamous hills, and sandy perilous wilds Where, through the sacred rays of chastity, No savage fierce, bandite, or mountaineer, Will dare to soil her virgin purity.
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Such sober certainty of waking bliss.
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Eye me, blest Providence, and square my trial To my proportion'd strength.
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Our cure, to be no more sad cure!
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The gay motes that people the sunbeams.
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