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To know that which lies before us in daily life is the prime wisdom.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Wisdom
Lying
Life
Prime
Daily
Lies

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Infinity is a dark illimitable ocean, without bound.
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Never can true reconcilement grow where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep.
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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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What reinforcement we may gain from hope If not, what resolution from despair.
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It is Chastity, my brother. She that has that is clad in complete steel.
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On the tawny sands and shelves trip the pert fairies and the dapper elves.
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The planets in their station list'ning stood.
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Revenge, at first though sweet, Bitter ere long back on itself recoils.
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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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Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee Jest, and youthful Jollity, Quips, and Cranks, and wanton Wiles, Nods, and Becks, and wreathed Smiles, Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, And love to live in dimple sleek Sport that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides.
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Virtue that wavers is not virtue.
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Nor love thy life, nor hate but what thou livest, Live well how long, or short, permit to Heaven.
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On a sudden open fly With impetuous recoil and jarring sound Th' infernal doors, and on their hinges grate Harsh thunder.
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The sun to me is dark And silent as the moon, When she deserts the night Hid in her vacant interlunar cave.
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Man hath his daily work of body or mind Appointed.
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Nor think thou with wind Of æry threats to awe whom yet with deeds Thou canst not.
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Here the great art lies, to discern in what the law is to be to restraint and punishment, and in what things persuasion only is to work.
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If weakness may excuse, What murderer, what traitor, parricide, Incestuous, sacrilegious, but may plead it? All wickedness is weakness that plea, therefore, With God or man will gain thee no remission.
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Beauty is God's handwriting-a wayside sacrament.
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And if by prayer Incessant I could hope to change the will Of Him who all things can, I would not cease To weary Him with my assiduous cries.
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