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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
Best
Contemplation
Bustle
Self
Solitude
Resort
Sometimes
Wings
Resorts
Various
Feathers
Sweet
Retired
Grow
Lets
Ruffled
Grows
Seeks
Plumes
Wisdom
Nurse
Impaired
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Sweet bird that shunn'st the nose of folly, Most musical, most melancholy! Thee, chauntress, oft, the woods among, I woo, to hear thy even-song.
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A good book is the precious lifeblood of a master spirit.
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Thoughts that voluntary move Harmonious numbers.
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Danger will wink on opportunity.
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Hail holy light, offspring of heav'n firstborn!
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Unless an age too late, or cold Climate, or years, damp my intended wing.
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And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet, Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet.
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For the air of youth, Hopeful and cheerful, in thy blood will reign A melancholy damp of cold and dry To weigh thy spirits down, and last consume The balm of life.
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Virtue hath no tongue to check vice's pride.
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Part of my soul I seek thee, and claim thee my other half
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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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O'er many a frozen, many a fiery Alp, Rocks, caves, lakes, fens, bogs, dens, and shades of death.
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O why did God, Creator wise, that peopled highest heav'n With Spirits masculine, create at last This novelty on earth, this fair defect Of nature, and not fill the world at once With men as angels without feminine, Or find some other way to generate Mankind?
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Satan so call him now, his former name Is heard no more in heaven.
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Time, though in Eternity, applied To motion, measures all things durable By present, past, and future.
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The Angel ended, and in Adam's ear So charming left his voice, that he awhile Thought him still speaking, still stood fix'd to hear.
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Just are the ways of God, And justifiable to men Unless there be who think not God at all.
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Such sights as youthful poets dream On summer eves by haunted stream. Then to the well-trod stage anon, If Jonson's learned sock be on, Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child, Warble his native wood-notes wild.
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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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