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But O yet more miserable! Myself my sepulchre, a moving grave.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Miserable
Misery
Moving
Sepulchre
Grave
Graves

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Hell has no benefits, only torture.
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Heaven, the seat of bliss, Brooks not the works of violence and war.
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Sole reigning holds the tyranny of Heav'n.
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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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It is not good that man should be alone. ... Hitherto all things that have been named, were approved of God to be very good: loneliness is the first thing which God's eye named not good: whether it be a thing, or the want of something, I labour not.
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Such sober certainty of waking bliss.
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In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds On half the nations, and with fear of change Perplexes monarchs.
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Dim eclipse, disastrous twilight.
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But oh the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone and never must return!
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Midnight shout and revelry, Tipsy dance and jollity.
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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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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.
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Then might ye see Cowls, hoods, and habits with their wearers tost And flutter'd into rags then reliques, beads, Indulgences, dispenses, pardons, bulls, The sport of winds all these upwhirl'd aloft Fly to the rearward of the world far off Into a limbo large and broad, since called The paradise of fools.
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To live a life half dead, a living death.
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