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The leaf was darkish, and had prickles on it, But in another country, as he said, Bore a bright golden flow'r, but not in this soil Unknown, and like esteem'd, and the dull swain Treads on it daily with his clouted shoon.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Another
Unknown
Country
Bright
Swain
Like
Soil
Treads
Dull
Bore
Esteem
Leafs
Golden
Leaf
Daily
Bores
Flow
Boredom

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Imparadis'd in one another's arms.
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He who tempts, though in vain, at last asperses The tempted with dishonor foul, supposed Not incorruptible of faith, not proof Against temptation.
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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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Reason also is choice.
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Hate is of all things the mightiest divider, nay, is division itself. To couple hatred, therefore, though wedlock try all her golden links, and borrow to tier aid all the iron manacles and fetters of law, it does but seek to twist a rope of sand.
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Our reason is our law.
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Hail, wedded love, mysterious law true source of human happiness.
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They who have put out the people's eyes reproach them of their blindness.
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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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Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye, in every gesture dignity and love.
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What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice, Of Attic taste?
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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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He who reigns within himself and rules passions, desires, and fears is more than a king.
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And yet on the other hand unless warinesse be us'd, as good almost kill a Man as kill a good Book who kills a Man kills a reasonable creature, Gods Image, but hee who destroyes a good Booke, kills reason it selfe, kills the Image of God, as it were in the eye.
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The redundant locks, robustious to no purpose, clustering down--vast monument of strength.
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Boast not of what thou would'st have done, but do.
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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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They eat, they drink, and in communion sweet Quaff immortality and joy.
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Virtue hath no tongue to check vice's pride.
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Time will run back and fetch the Age of Gold.
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