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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
Revenge
Bitter
Sweet
Though
Back
Firsts
Recoils
First
Recoil
Long
Bitterness

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There is no truth sure enough to justify persecution.
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Impostor do not charge most innocent Nature, As if she would her children should be riotous With her abundance she, good cateress, Means her provision only to the good, That live according to her sober laws, And holy dictate of spare temperance.
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And may at last my weary age Find out the peaceful hermitage, The hairy gown and mossy cell, Where I may sit and rightly spell Of every star that heaven doth shew, And every herb that sips the dew, Till old experience to attain To something like prophetic strain.
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Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye, in every gesture dignity and love.
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The redundant locks, robustious to no purpose, clustering down--vast monument of strength.
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O welcome pure-eyed Faith, white handed Hope, Thou hovering angel girt with golden wings.
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But let my due feet never fail To walk the studious cloisters pale, And love the high embowed roof, With antique pillars massy proof, And storied windows richly dight Casting a dim religious light.
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His rod revers'd, And backward mutters of dissevering power.
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Our country is where ever we are well off.
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What reinforcement we may gain from hope If not, what resolution from despair.
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Imparadis'd in one another's arms.
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And to thy husband's will Thine shall submit he over thee shall rule.
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No war or battle sound Was heard the world around.
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Where peace And rest can never dwell, hope never comes, That comes to all.
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With eyes Of conjugal attraction unreprov'd. Imparadised in one another's arms. With thee conversing I forget all time. And feel that I am happier than I know.
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This horror will grow mild, this darkness light Besides what hope the never-ending flight Of future days may bring, what chance, what change Worth waiting--since our present lot appears For happy though but ill, for ill not worst, If we procure not to ourselves more woe.
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Where shame is, there is also fear.
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These eyes, tho' clear To outward view of blemish or of spot, Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot, Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year, Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not Against Heaven's hand or will, not bate a jot Of heart or hope but still bear up and steer Right onward.
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For truth is strong next to the Almighty. She needs no policies or stratagems or licensings to make her victorious. These are the shifts and the defences that error uses against her power.
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Don't hold grudges it's pointless. Jealousy too is a non-cathartic, negative emotion. .
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