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No war or battle sound Was heard the world around.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Battle
Heard
Sound
War
Around
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.
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Give me the liberty to know, to utter, and to argue freely according to conscience, above all liberties.
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Thrones, dominions, princedoms, virtues, powers-- If these magnific titles yet remain Not merely titular.
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Evil, be thou my good.
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Unless an age too late, or cold Climate, or years, damp my intended wing.
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Truth is as impossible to be soiled by any outward touch as the sunbeam.
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Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy In sceptred pall come sweeping by, Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line, Or the tale of Troy divine.
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Where glowing embers through the room Teach light to counterfeit a gloom.
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First Moloch, horrid king, besmirched in blood, Of Human sacrifice, and parent's tears, Though, for the noise of drums and timbrels loud, Their childrens' cries unheard, that passed through fire, To his grim idol.
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And what is faith, love, virtue unassayed Alone, without exterior help sustained?
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Virtue that wavers is not virtue.
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Deep vers'd in books, and shallow in himself.
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Anarchy is the sure consequence of tyranny for no power that is not limited by laws can ever be protected by them.
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Midnight brought on the dusky hour Friendliest to sleep and silence.
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God shall be all in all.
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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.
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Seasoned life of man preserved and stored up in books.
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How gladly would I meet mortality, my sentence, and be earth in sensible! How glad would lay me down, as in my mother's lap! There I should rest, and sleep secure.
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To be blind is not miserable not to be able to bear blindness, that is miserable.
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O visions ill foreseen! Better had I Liv'd ignorant of future, so had borne My part of evil only.
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