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What if Earth be but the shadow of Heaven and things therein - each other like, more than on Earth is thought?

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Earth
Things
Like
Therein
Shadow
Heaven
Thought

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It is Chastity, my brother. She that has that is clad in complete steel.
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Here the great art lies, to discern in what the law is to be to restraint and punishment, and in what things persuasion only is to work.
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You can make hell out of heaven and heaven out of hell. It's all in the mind.
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The conquer'd, also, and enslaved by war, Shall, with their freedom lost, all virtue lose.
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In argument with men a woman ever Goes by the worse, whatever be her cause.
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For truth is strong next to the Almighty. She needs no policies or stratagems or licensings to make her victorious. These are the shifts and the defences that error uses against her power.
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Time, though in Eternity, applied To motion, measures all things durable By present, past, and future.
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Such joy ambition finds.
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Lethe, the river of oblivion, rolls his watery labyrinth, which whoso drinks forgets both joy and grief.
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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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Knowledge forbidden? Suspicious, reasonless. Why should their Lord Envy them that? Can it be sin to know, Can it be death? And do they only stand By ignorance? Is that their happy state, The proof of their obedience and their faith? O fair foundation laid whereon to build Their ruin!
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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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Boast not of what thou would'st have done, but do.
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So he with difficulty and labour hard Mov'd on, with difficulty and labour he.
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A good book is the precious lifeblood of a master spirit.
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For such kind of borrowing as this, if it be not bettered by the borrowers, among good authors is accounted Plagiarè.
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The oracles are dumb, No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
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A short retirement urges a sweet return.
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The planets in their station list'ning stood.
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Heaven, the seat of bliss, Brooks not the works of violence and war.
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