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Live while ye may, Yet happy pair.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Happy
May
Live
Pair
Pairs
Happiness

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True it is that covetousness is rich, modesty starves.
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The starry cope Of heaven.
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For books are not absolutely dead things, but do contain a potency of life in them to be as active as that soul was whose progeny they are nay, they do preserve as in a vial the purest efficacy and extraction of that living intellect that bred them.
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Seas wept from our deep sorrows.
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Most men admire Virtue who follow not her lore.
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Come and trip it as ye go On the light fantastic toe.
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With thee conversing I forget all time.
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His words, like so many nimble and airy servitors, trip about him at command. Ibid.
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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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He that has light within his own clear breast May sit in the centre, and enjoy bright day: But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts Benighted walks under the mid-day sun Himself his own dungeon.
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Those graceful acts, those thousand decencies, that daily flow from all her words and actions, mixed with love and sweet compliance, which declare unfeigned union of mind, or in us both one soul.
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Few sometimes may know, when thousands err.
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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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Bacchus, that first from out the purple grape Crush'd the sweet poison of misused wine.
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How often from the steep Of echoing hill or thicket have we heard Celestial voices to the midnight air, Sole, or responsive each to other's note, Singing their great Creator?
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Therefore God's universal law Gave to the man despotic power Over his female in due awe, Not from that right to part an hour, Smile she or lour.
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The debt immense of endless gratitude, So burthensome, still paying, still to owe Forgetful what from him I still receivd, And understood not that a grateful mind By owing owes not, but still pays, at once Indebted and dischargd what burden then?
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Servant of God, well done! well hast thou fought The better fight, who single hast maintain'd Against revolted multitudes the cause of truth.
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Time is the subtle thief of youth.
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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.
John Milton