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How gladly would I meet mortality, my sentence, and be earth in sensible! How glad would lay me down, as in my mother's lap! There I should rest, and sleep secure.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Earth
Secure
Gladly
Would
Glad
Gladness
Meet
Lap
Dying
Mortality
Rest
Sentence
Sleep
Sensible
Death
Sentences
Mother
Lays

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Boast not of what thou would'st have done, but do.
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Love-quarrels oft in pleasing concord end.
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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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Blind mouths! That scarce themselves know how to hold A sheep-hook.
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The virtuous mind that ever walks attended By a strong siding champion, Conscience.
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Some say no evil thing that walks by night, In fog or fire, by lake or moorish fen, Blue meagre hag, or stubborn unlaid ghost That breaks his magic chains at curfew time, No goblin, or swart fairy of the mine, Hath hurtful power o'er true virginity.
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Joking decides great things, Stronger and better oft than earnest can.
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So may'st thou live, till like ripe fruit thou drop Into thy mother's lap, or be with ease Gathered, not harshly plucked, for death mature: This is old age but then thou must outlive Thy youth, thy strength, thy beauty, which will change To withered weak and grey.
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Our torments also may in length of time Become our elements, these piercing fires As soft as now severe, our temper changed Into their temper.
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But O yet more miserable! Myself my sepulchre, a moving grave.
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If this fail, The pillar'd firmament is rottenness, And earth's base built on stubble.
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Aristotle ... imputed this symphony of the heavens ... this music of the spheres to Pythagorus. ... But Pythagoras alone of mortals is said to have heard this harmony ... If our hearts were as pure, as chaste, as snowy as Pythagoras' was, our ears would resound and be filled with that supremely lovely music of the wheeling stars.
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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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To know that which lies before us in daily life is the prime wisdom.
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Good luck befriend thee, Son for at thy birth The fairy ladies danced upon the hearth.
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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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In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds On half the nations, and with fear of change Perplexes monarchs.
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To be blind is not miserable not to be able to bear blindness, that is miserable.
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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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Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise. That last infirmity of noble mind. To scorn delights, and live laborious days.
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