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Eloquence the soul, song charms the senses.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Senses
Song
Soul
Mazes
Charms
Eloquence
Charm

More quotes by John Milton

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Satan so call him now, his former name Is heard no more in heaven.
John Milton
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In discourse more sweet For eloquence the soul, song charms the sense. Others apart sat on a hill retir'd, In thoughts more elevate, and reason'd high Of providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate, Fix'd fate, free-will, foreknowledge absolute And found no end, in wand'ring mazes lost.
John Milton
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Nor think thou with wind Of æry threats to awe whom yet with deeds Thou canst not.
John Milton
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Yet much remains To conquer still peace hath her victories No less renowned then war, new foes arise Threatening to bind our souls with secular chains: Help us to save free conscience from the paw Of hireling wolves whose gospel is their maw.
John Milton
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Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth.
John Milton
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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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The redundant locks, robustious to no purpose, clustering down--vast monument of strength.
John Milton
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But let my due feet never fail To walk the studious cloisters pale, And love the high embowed roof, With antique pillars massy proof, And storied windows richly dight Casting a dim religious light.
John Milton
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Socrates... Whom well inspir'd the oracle pronounc'd Wisest of men.
John Milton
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Th' ethereal mould Incapable of stain would soon expel Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire, Victorious. Thus repuls'd, our final hope Is flat despair.
John Milton
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Boast not of what thou would'st have done, but do.
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That space the Evil One abstracted stood From his own evil, and for the time remained Stupidly good, of enmity disarmed, Of guile, of hate, of envy, of revenge .
John Milton
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Of calling shapes, and beck'ning shadows dire, And airy tongues that syllable men's names.
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Eye me, blest Providence, and square my trial To my proportion'd strength.
John Milton
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Lethe, the river of oblivion, rolls his watery labyrinth, which whoso drinks forgets both joy and grief.
John Milton
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Let us seek Death, or he not found, supply With our own hands his office on ourselves Why stand we longer shivering under fears, That show no end but death, and have the power, Of many ways to die the shortest choosing, Destruction with destruction to destroy.
John Milton
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Sweetest Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv'st unseen Within thy airy shell, By slow Meander's margent green, And in the violet-embroidered vale.
John Milton
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Love-quarrels oft in pleasing concord end.
John Milton
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His words, like so many nimble and airy servitors, trip about him at command. Ibid.
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.
John Milton