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Th'invention all admir'd, and each, how he to be th'inventor miss'd so easy it seem'd once found, which yet unfound most would have thought impossible.
John Milton
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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
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Found
Impossibility
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Invention
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Inventor
More quotes by John Milton
Hail, wedded love, mysterious law true source of human happiness.
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Believe and be confirmed.
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Where no hope is left, is left no fear.
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As in an organ from one blast of wind To many a row of pipes the soundboard breathes.
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What boots it at one gate to make defence, And at another to let in the foe?
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Sport, that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides. Come and trip it as ye go, On the light fantastic toe.
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Gratitude bestows reverence.....changing forever how we experience life and the world.
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The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, But, swoln with wind, and the rank mist they draw, Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread: Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing said But that two-handed engine at the door Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.
John Milton
Mutual love, the crown of all our bliss.
John Milton
Back to thy punishment, False fugitive, and to thy speed add wings.
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Dim eclipse, disastrous twilight.
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Each tree Laden with fairest fruit, that hung to th' eye Tempting, stirr'd in me sudden appetite To pluck and eat.
John Milton
Bacchus, that first from out the purple grape Crush'd the sweet poison of misused wine.
John Milton
Anarchy is the sure consequence of tyranny for no power that is not limited by laws can ever be protected by them.
John Milton
Gratitude bestows reverence, allowing us to encounter everyday epiphanies.
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Zeal and duty are not slow But on occasion's forelock watchful wait.
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O madness to think use of strongest wines And strongest drinks our chief support of health, When God with these forbidden made choice to rear His mighty champion, strong above compare, Whose drink was only from the liquid brook.
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Such sober certainty of waking bliss.
John Milton
So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning sky.
John Milton
But O yet more miserable! Myself my sepulchre, a moving grave.
John Milton