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It were a journey like the path to heaven, To help you find them.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
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More quotes by John Milton

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O fairest of creation, last and best Of all God's works, creature in whom excelled Whatever can to sight or thought be formed, Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet! How art thou lost, how on a sudden lost, Defaced, deflow'red, and now to death devote? Paradise Lost
John Milton
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On a sudden open fly With impetuous recoil and jarring sound Th' infernal doors, and on their hinges grate Harsh thunder.
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Eloquence the soul, song charms the senses.
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Evil into the mind of god or man may come and go, so unapproved, and leave no spot or blame behind.
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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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Me miserable! Which way shall I fly Infinite wrath and infinite despair? Which way I fly is hell myself am hell And in the lowest deep a lower deep, Still threat'ning to devour me, opens wide, To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven.
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Just are the ways of God, And justifiable to men Unless there be who think not God at all.
John Milton
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Imparadis'd in one another's arms.
John Milton
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And that must end us, that must be our cure: To be no more. Sad cure! For who would lose, Though full of pain, this intellectual being, Those thoughts that wander through eternity, To perish, rather, swallowed up and lost In the wide womb of uncreated night Devoid of sense and motion?
John Milton
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A limbo large and broad, since call'd The Paradise of Fools to few unknown.
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A thousand fantasies Begin to throng into my memory, Of calling shapes, and beckoning shadows dire, And airy tongues that syllable men's names On sands and shores and desert wildernesses
John Milton
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Nothing lovelier can be found In woman, than to study household good, And good works in her husband to promote.
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Oh, shame to men! devil with devil damn'd Firm concord holds, men only disagree Of creatures rational.
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My latest found, Heaven's last, best gift, my ever new delight!
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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.
John Milton
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His sleep Was aery light, from pure digestion bred.
John Milton
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But O yet more miserable! Myself my sepulchre, a moving grave.
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What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice, Of Attic taste?
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What reinforcement we may gain from hope If not, what resolution from despair.
John Milton
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The sun to me is dark And silent as the moon, When she deserts the night Hid in her vacant interlunar cave.
John Milton