Quote

Wisdom's self oft seeks to sweet retired solitude, where with her best nurse Contemplation, she plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings that in the various bustle of resort were all to-ruffled, and sometimes impaired.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Grows
Seeks
Plumes
Wisdom
Nurse
Impaired
Best
Contemplation
Bustle
Self
Solitude
Resort
Sometimes
Wings
Resorts
Various
Feathers
Sweet
Retired
Grow
Lets
Ruffled

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The world was all before them, where to choose Their place of rest, and Providence their guide: They hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow, Through Eden took their solitary way.
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Perplexed and troubled at his bad success The Tempter stood, nor had what to reply, Discovered in his fraud, thrown from his hope.
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The earth, though in comparison of heaven so small, nor glistering, may of solid good contain more plenty than the sun, that barren shines.
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If this fail, The pillar'd firmament is rottenness, And earth's base built on stubble.
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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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Back to thy punishment, False fugitive, and to thy speed add wings.
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Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony.
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Beyond is all abyss, eternity, whose end no eye can reach.
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Truth and understanding are not such wares as to be monopolized and traded in by tickets and statutes and standards. We must not think to make a staple commodity of all the knowledge in the land, to mark and license it like our broadcloth and our woolpacks.
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Our reason is our law.
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All seemed well pleased, all seemed, but were not all.
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Then might ye see Cowls, hoods, and habits with their wearers tost And flutter'd into rags then reliques, beads, Indulgences, dispenses, pardons, bulls, The sport of winds all these upwhirl'd aloft Fly to the rearward of the world far off Into a limbo large and broad, since called The paradise of fools.
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All is not lost, the unconquerable will, and study of revenge, immortal hate, and the courage never to submit or yield.
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So may'st thou live, till like ripe fruit thou drop Into thy mother's lap.
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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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On the tawny sands and shelves trip the pert fairies and the dapper elves.
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The teachers of our law, and to propose What might improve my knowledge or their own.
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Infinity is a dark illimitable ocean, without bound.
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