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Cedar, and pine, and fir, and branching palm, A sylvan scene, and as the ranks ascend Shade above shade, a woody theatre Of stateliest view.
John Milton
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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Shade
Cedar
Theatre
Cedars
Ascend
Scene
Pine
View
Ranks
Views
Palm
Woody
Palms
Branching
More quotes by John Milton
Love-quarrels oft in pleasing concord end.
John Milton
A dungeon horrible, on all sides round, As one great furnace, flamed yet from those flames No light, but rather darkness visible Serv'd only to discover sights of woe, Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace And rest can never dwell, hope never comes That comes to all but torture without end.
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To be blind is not miserable not to be able to bear blindness, that is miserable.
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Anon out of the earth a fabric huge Rose, like an exhalation.
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Extol not riches then, the toil of fools, The wise man's cumbrance, if not snare, more apt To slacken virtue, and abate her edge, Than prompt her to do aught may merit praise.
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The wife, where danger or dishonour lurks, Safest and seemliest by her husband stays, Who guards her, or with her the worst endures.
John Milton
Time, though in Eternity, applied To motion, measures all things durable By present, past, and future.
John Milton
No mighty trance, or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
John Milton
So may'st thou live, till like ripe fruit thou drop Into thy mother's lap.
John Milton
Midnight shout and revelry, Tipsy dance and jollity.
John Milton
Books are not absolutely dead things, but do contain a potency of life in them....I know they are as lively and as vigorously productive as those fabulous dragon's teeth and being sown up and down, may chance to spring up armed men.
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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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Hail holy light, offspring of heav'n firstborn!
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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.
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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?
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O fairest of creation, last and best Of all God's works, creature in whom excelled Whatever can to sight or thought be formed, Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet! How art thou lost, how on a sudden lost, Defaced, deflow'red, and now to death devote? Paradise Lost
John Milton
Imparadis'd in one another's arms.
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Let none admire that riches grow in hell that soil may best deserve the precious bane.
John Milton
My mansion is, where those immortal shapes Of bright aerial spirits live insphered In regions mild of calm and serene air, Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot Which men call Earth.
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Hell has no benefits, only torture.
John Milton