Quote

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.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Bears
Heav
Hand
Onward
Hope
Steer
Hands
Stills
Steers
Still
Argue
Right
Arguing
Heart
Bear

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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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Hide me from day's garish eye, While the bee with honied thigh, That at her flowery work doth sing, And the waters murmuring With such consort as they keep, Entice the dewy-feathered sleep.
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Time is the subtle thief of youth.
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What is strength without a double share of wisdom?
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Our reason is our law.
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Till old experience do attain To something like prophetic strain.
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Love Virtue, she alone is free, She can teach ye how to climb Higher than the sphery chime Or, if Virtue feeble were, Heav'n itself would stoop to her.
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Eloquence the soul, song charms the senses.
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The teachers of our law, and to propose What might improve my knowledge or their own.
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Socrates... Whom well inspir'd the oracle pronounc'd Wisest of men.
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Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, With charm of earliest birds.
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Those graceful acts, those thousand decencies, that daily flow from all her words and actions, mixed with love and sweet compliance, which declare unfeigned union of mind, or in us both one soul.
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These evils I deserve, and more . . . . Justly, yet despair not of his final pardon, Whose ear is ever open, and his eye Gracious to re-admit the suppliant.
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For Solomon, he lived at ease, and full Of honour, wealth, high fare, aimed not beyond Higher design than to enjoy his state.
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If we think we regulate printing, thereby to rectify manners, we must regulate all regulations and pastimes, all that is delightful to man.
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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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Yet much remains To conquer still peace hath her victories No less renowned then war, new foes arise Threatening to bind our souls with secular chains: Help us to save free conscience from the paw Of hireling wolves whose gospel is their maw.
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His words, like so many nimble and airy servitors, trip about him at command. Ibid.
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Suffering for truth's sake Is fortitude to highest victory, And to the faithful death the gate of life.
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At His birth a star, unseen before in heaven, proclaims Him come.
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