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Revenge, at first though sweet, Bitter ere long back on itself recoils.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Bitter
Sweet
Though
Back
Firsts
Recoils
First
Recoil
Long
Bitterness
Revenge

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What honour that, But tedious waste of time, to sit and hear So many hollow compliments and lies.
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God sure esteems the growth and completing of one virtuous person, more that the restraint of ten vicious.
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A limbo large and broad, since call'd The Paradise of Fools to few unknown.
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Where no hope is left, is left no fear.
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A good book is the precious lifeblood of a master spirit.
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A broad and ample road, whose dust is gold, And pavement stars,--as stars to thee appear Seen in the galaxy, that milky way Which nightly as a circling zone thou seest Powder'd with stars.
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So little knows Any, but God alone, but perverts best things To worst abuse, or to their meanest use.
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Implied Subjection, but requir'd with gentle sway, And by her yielded, by him best receiv'd,- Yielded with coy submission, modest pride, And sweet, reluctant, amorous delay.
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The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, But, swoln with wind, and the rank mist they draw, Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread: Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing said But that two-handed engine at the door Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.
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But O yet more miserable! Myself my sepulchre, a moving grave.
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Seas wept from our deep sorrows.
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Our torments also may in length of time Become our Elements.
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Cedar, and pine, and fir, and branching palm, A sylvan scene, and as the ranks ascend Shade above shade, a woody theatre Of stateliest view.
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There are no songs comparable to the songs of Zion, no orations equal to those of the prophets, and no politics like those which the Scriptures teach.
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With ruin upon ruin, rout on rout, Confusion worse confounded.
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Among the writers of all ages, some deserve fame, and have it others neither have nor deserve it some have it, not deserving it others, though deserving it, yet totally miss it, or have it not equal to their deserts.
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Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely: and pined his loss
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None But such as are good men can give good things, And that which is not good, is not delicious To a well-govern'd and wise appetite.
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So dear to heav'n is saintly chastity, That when a soul is found sincerely so, A thousand liveried angels lackey her, Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt, And in clear dream and solemn vision Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear, Till oft converse with heav'nly habitants Begin to cast a beam on th' outward shape.
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Never can true reconcilement grow where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep.
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