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United thoughts and counsels, equal hope And hazard in the glorious enterprise.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
United
Hope
Counsels
Hazard
Hazards
Enterprise
Glorious
Thoughts
Equal

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Not to know me argues yourselves unknown.
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Death is the golden key that opens the palace of eternity.
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Now conscience wakes despair That slumber'd,-wakes the bitter memory Of what he was, what is, and what must be Worse.
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When we speak of knowing God, it must be understood with reference to man's limited powers of comprehension. God, as He really is, is far beyond man's imagination, let alone understanding. God has revealed only so much of Himself as our minds can conceive and the weakness of our nature can bear.
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Beauty is God's handwriting-a wayside sacrament.
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Freely we serve, Because we freely love, as in our will To love or not in this we stand or fall.
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Her silent course advance With inoffensive pace, that spinning sleeps On her soft axle.
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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.
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Which way I fly is Hell myself am Hell.
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O when meet now Such pairs, in love and mutual honour joined?
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Fear of change perplexes monarchs.
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I must not quarrel with the will Of highest dispensation, which herein, Haply had ends above my reach to know.
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Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day.
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And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet, Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet.
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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 pious and just honoring of ourselves may be thought the fountainhead from whence every laudable and worthy enterprise issues forth.
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What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice, Of Attic taste?
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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?
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Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee Jest, and youthful Jollity, Quips, and Cranks, and wanton Wiles, Nods, and Becks, and wreathed Smiles, Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, And love to live in dimple sleek Sport that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides.
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