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Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth.
John Milton
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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Looks
Homeward
Ruth
Melt
Angel
Look
More quotes by John Milton
The helmed Cherubim, And sworded Seraphim, Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display'd.
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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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Our reason is our law.
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Oh, shame to men! devil with devil damn'd Firm concord holds, men only disagree Of creatures rational.
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And grace that won who saw to wish her stay.
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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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Back to thy punishment, False fugitive, and to thy speed add wings.
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Courage never to submit of yield.
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Yet I argue not Against Heav'n's hand or will, nor bate a jot Of heart or hope but still bear up and steer Right onward.
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Peace hath her victories, no less renowned than War.
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And that must end us, that must be our cure: To be no more. Sad cure! For who would lose, Though full of pain, this intellectual being, Those thoughts that wander through eternity, To perish, rather, swallowed up and lost In the wide womb of uncreated night Devoid of sense and motion?
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What is dark within me, illumine.
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Beauty is Nature's coin, must not be hoarded, But must be current, and the good thereof Consists in mutual and partaken bliss.
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Virtue hath no tongue to check vice's pride.
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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.
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The love-lorn nightingale nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well.
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A good book is the precious lifeblood of a master spirit.
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And now without redemption all mankind Must have been lost, adjudged to death and hell By doom severe.
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And sing to those that hold the vital shears And turn the adamantine spindle round, On which the fate of gods and men is wound.
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To be blind is not miserable not to be able to bear blindness, that is miserable.
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