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As children gath'ring pebbles on the shore. Or if I would delight my private hours With music or with poem, where so soon As in our native language can I find That solace?
John Milton
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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Soon
Solace
Hours
Ring
Language
Shore
Music
Poem
Find
Native
Children
Rings
Would
Delight
Private
Pebbles
More quotes by John Milton
A short retirement urges a sweet return.
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Arm the obdured breast with stubborn patience as with triple steel.
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So may'st thou live, till like ripe fruit thou drop Into thy mother's lap.
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But peaceful was the night Wherein the Prince of Light His reign of peace upon the earth began.
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Such joy ambition finds.
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And what is faith, love, virtue unassayed Alone, without exterior help sustained?
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Myself, and all the Angelic Host, that stand in the sight of God enthroned, our happy state hold, as you yours, while our obedience hold. On other surety none: freely we serve, because we freely love.
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Yet some there be that by due steps aspire To lay their just hands on that golden key That opes the palace of Eternity.
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And the earth self-balanced on her centre hung.
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Oh, shame to men! devil with devil damn'd Firm concord holds, men only disagree Of creatures rational.
John Milton
Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot Which men call earth.
John Milton
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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This manner of writing wherein knowing myself inferior to myself? I have the use, as I may account it, but of my left hand.
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Come knit hands, and beat the ground in a light fantastic round
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O sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams That bring to my remembrance from what state I fell, how glorious once above thy sphere.
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Aristotle ... imputed this symphony of the heavens ... this music of the spheres to Pythagorus. ... But Pythagoras alone of mortals is said to have heard this harmony ... If our hearts were as pure, as chaste, as snowy as Pythagoras' was, our ears would resound and be filled with that supremely lovely music of the wheeling stars.
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Joking decides great things, Stronger and better oft than earnest can.
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Man hath his daily work of body or mind Appointed.
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Among the writers of all ages, some deserve fame, and have it others neither have nor deserve it some have it, not deserving it others, though deserving it, yet totally miss it, or have it not equal to their deserts.
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Lethe, the river of oblivion, rolls his watery labyrinth, which whoso drinks forgets both joy and grief.
John Milton