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They eat, they drink, and in communion sweet Quaff immortality and joy.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Quaff
Communion
Immortality
Sweet
Drink
Joy

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Heav'nly love shall outdoo Hellish hate
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My mansion is, where those immortal shapes Of bright aerial spirits live insphered In regions mild of calm and serene air, Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot Which men call Earth.
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Biochemically, love is just like eating large amounts of chocolate.
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To be blind is not miserable not to be able to bear blindness, that is miserable.
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Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forced fingers rude Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year.
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Satan so call him now, his former name Is heard no more in heaven.
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Which way I fly is Hell myself am Hell.
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Implied Subjection, but requir'd with gentle sway, And by her yielded, by him best receiv'd,- Yielded with coy submission, modest pride, And sweet, reluctant, amorous delay.
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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
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O sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams That bring to my remembrance from what state I fell, how glorious once above thy sphere.
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A shout that tore hell's concave, and beyond / Frightened the reign of Chaos and old Night.
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Where peace And rest can never dwell, hope never comes, That comes to all.
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Where all life dies death lives.
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The pious and just honoring of ourselves may be thought the fountainhead from whence every laudable and worthy enterprise issues forth.
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And some are fall'n, to disobedience fall'n, And so from Heav'n to deepest Hell O fall From what high state of bliss into what woe!
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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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So farewell hope, and with hope farewell fear,Farewell remorse: all good to me is lostEvil,be thou my good.
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If weakness may excuse, What murderer, what traitor, parricide, Incestuous, sacrilegious, but may plead it? All wickedness is weakness that plea, therefore, With God or man will gain thee no remission.
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Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely: and pined his loss
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But hail thou Goddess sage and holy, Hail, divinest Melancholy, Whose saintly visage is too bright To hit the sense of human sight, And therefore to our weaker view O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue.
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