Quote

Myself, and all the Angelic Host, that stand in the sight of God enthroned, our happy state hold, as you yours, while our obedience hold. On other surety none: freely we serve, because we freely love.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Stand
Freely
State
Host
Happy
Obedience
States
Serve
Love
Angel
None
Enthroned
Sight
Surety
Hold
Angelic

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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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When language in common use in any country becomes irregular and depraved, it is followed by their ruin and degradation. For what do terms used without skill or meaning, which are at once corrupt and misapplied, denote but a people listless, supine, and ripe for servitude?
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The end of all learning is to know God, and out of that knowledge to love and imitate Him.
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Let us no more contend, nor blame each other, blamed enough elsewhere, but strive, In offices of love, how we may lighten each other's burden.
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For so I created them free and free they must remain.
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To many a youth and many a maid, dancing in the chequer'd shade.
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And to thy husband's will Thine shall submit he over thee shall rule.
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Don't hold grudges it's pointless. Jealousy too is a non-cathartic, negative emotion. .
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Angels contented with their face in heaven, Seek not the praise of men.
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Man hath his daily work of body or mind Appointed.
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For the air of youth, Hopeful and cheerful, in thy blood will reign A melancholy damp of cold and dry To weigh thy spirits down, and last consume The balm of life.
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Such sights as youthful poets dream On summer eves by haunted stream. Then to the well-trod stage anon, If Jonson's learned sock be on, Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child, Warble his native wood-notes wild.
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Meanwhile the Adversary of God and man, Satan with thoughts inflamed of highest design, Puts on swift wings, and towards the gates of hell Explores his solitary flight.
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They eat, they drink, and in communion sweet Quaff immortality and joy.
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First Moloch, horrid king, besmirched in blood, Of Human sacrifice, and parent's tears, Though, for the noise of drums and timbrels loud, Their childrens' cries unheard, that passed through fire, To his grim idol.
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Sweet bird that shunn'st the nose of folly, Most musical, most melancholy! Thee, chauntress, oft, the woods among, I woo, to hear thy even-song.
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What if Earth be but the shadow of Heaven and things therein - each other like, more than on Earth is thought?
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Zeal and duty are not slow But on occasion's forelock watchful wait.
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The nodding horror of whose shady brows Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger.
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