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And storied windows richly dight, Casting a dim religious light.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Religious
Religion
Light
Storied
Studious
Richly
Windows
Casting
Window

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Heaven, the seat of bliss, Brooks not the works of violence and war.
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Yet hold it more humane, more heav'nly, first, By winning words to conquer willing hearts, And make persuasion do the work of fear.
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Where there is much desire to learn, there of necessity will be much arguing, much writing, for opinion in good men is but knowledge in the making.
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Awake, arise or be for ever fall’n.
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Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts And eloquence.
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Now came still evening on and twilight gray Had in her sober livery all things clad: Silence accompanied for beast and bird, They to they grassy couch, these to their nests, Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale.
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It is not virtue, wisdom, valour, wit, Strength, comeliness of shape, or amplest merit, That woman's love can win, or long inherit But what it is, hard is to say, Harder to hit.
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So farewell hope, and with hope farewell fear,Farewell remorse: all good to me is lostEvil,be thou my good.
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And sing to those that hold the vital shears And turn the adamantine spindle round, On which the fate of gods and men is wound.
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Angels contented with their face in heaven, Seek not the praise of men.
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Live while ye may, Yet happy pair.
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Don't hold grudges it's pointless. Jealousy too is a non-cathartic, negative emotion. .
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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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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.
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Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth.
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If this fail, The pillar'd firmament is rottenness, And earth's base built on stubble.
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Where glowing embers through the room Teach light to counterfeit a gloom.
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Nor from hell One step no more than from himself can fly By change of place.
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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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Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise. That last infirmity of noble mind. To scorn delights, and live laborious days.
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