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His form had yet not lost All her original brightness, nor appear'd Less than archangel ruin'd, and th' excess Of glory obscur'd.
John Milton
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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
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More quotes by John Milton
The nodding horror of whose shady brows Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger.
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A broad and ample road, whose dust is gold, And pavement stars,--as stars to thee appear Seen in the galaxy, that milky way Which nightly as a circling zone thou seest Powder'd with stars.
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Thence to the famous orators repair, Those ancient, whose resistless eloquence Wielded at will that fierce democratie, Shook the arsenal, and fulmin'd over Greece, To Macedon, and Artaxerxes' throne.
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Sole reigning holds the tyranny of Heav'n.
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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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Thrones, dominions, princedoms, virtues, powers-- If these magnific titles yet remain Not merely titular.
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If there be any difference among professed believers as to the sense of Scripture, it is their duty to tolerate such difference in each other, until God shall have revealed the truth to all.
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But now my task is smoothly done, I can fly, or I can run Quickly to the green earth's end, Where the bow'd welkin slow doth bend, And from thence can soar as soon To the corners of the Moon.
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And if by prayer Incessant I could hope to change the will Of Him who all things can, I would not cease To weary Him with my assiduous cries.
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Let none admire that riches grow in hell that soil may best deserve the precious bane.
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For neither man nor angel can discern hypocrisy, the only evil that walks invisible, except to God alone.
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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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We read not that Christ ever exercised force but once and that was to drive profane ones out of his Temple, not to force them in.
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Nor think thou with wind Of æry threats to awe whom yet with deeds Thou canst not.
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Imparadis'd in one another's arms.
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And some are fall'n, to disobedience fall'n, And so from Heav'n to deepest Hell O fall From what high state of bliss into what woe!
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Virtue hath no tongue to check vice's pride.
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Gratitude bestows reverence, allowing us to encounter everyday epiphanies.
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Love-quarrels oft in pleasing concord end.
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No mighty trance, or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
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