Quote

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!

John Milton

Change background

T
T
T

Change font

TAGS & TOPICS

John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Disobedience
Deepest
Bliss
Hell
High
State
Fall
Heav
States
Woe

More quotes by John Milton

Image
And now without redemption all mankind Must have been lost, adjudged to death and hell By doom severe.
John Milton
Image
It is not virtue, wisdom, valour, wit, Strength, comeliness of shape, or amplest merit, That woman's love can win, or long inherit But what it is, hard is to say, Harder to hit.
John Milton
Image
Never can true reconcilement grow where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep.
John Milton
Image
Sufficient to have stood, though free to fall.
John Milton
Image
Midnight shout and revelry, Tipsy dance and jollity.
John Milton
Image
Heaven Is as the Book of God before thee set, Wherein to read His wondrous works.
John Milton
Image
None But such as are good men can give good things, And that which is not good, is not delicious To a well-govern'd and wise appetite.
John Milton
Image
Gratitude bestows reverence, allowing us to encounter everyday epiphanies, those transcendent moments of awe that change forever how we experience life and the world.
John Milton
Image
Thou canst not touch the freedom of my mind.
John Milton
Image
Bacchus, that first from out the purple grape Crush'd the sweet poison of misused wine.
John Milton
Image
Who, as they sung, would take the prison'd soul And lap it in Elysium.
John Milton
Image
Sweet bird that shunn'st the nose of folly, Most musical, most melancholy! Thee, chauntress, oft, the woods among, I woo, to hear thy even-song.
John Milton
Image
The love-lorn nightingale nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well.
John Milton
Image
Few sometimes may know, when thousands err.
John Milton
Image
Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy In sceptred pall come sweeping by, Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line, Or the tale of Troy divine.
John Milton
Image
The never-ending flight Of future days.
John Milton
Image
How often from the steep Of echoing hill or thicket have we heard Celestial voices to the midnight air, Sole, or responsive each to other's note, Singing their great Creator?
John Milton
Image
Such joy ambition finds.
John Milton
Image
From morn To noon he fell, from noon to dewy eve,- A summer's day and with the setting sun Dropp'd from the Zenith like a falling star.
John Milton
Image
And that must end us, that must be our cure: To be no more. Sad cure! For who would lose, Though full of pain, this intellectual being, Those thoughts that wander through eternity, To perish, rather, swallowed up and lost In the wide womb of uncreated night Devoid of sense and motion?
John Milton