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Nor think thou with wind Of æry threats to awe whom yet with deeds Thou canst not.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Thou
Threat
Wind
Think
Thinking
Canst
Threats
Awe
Deeds

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So farewell hope, and with hope farewell fear,Farewell remorse: all good to me is lostEvil,be thou my good.
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And to the faithful: death, the gate of life.
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So little knows Any, but God alone, but perverts best things To worst abuse, or to their meanest use.
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Behold now this vast city [London] a city of refuge, the mansion-house of liberty, encompassed and surrounded with His protection.
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A shout that tore hell's concave, and beyond / Frightened the reign of Chaos and old Night.
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Time, though in Eternity, applied To motion, measures all things durable By present, past, and future.
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Gratitude bestows reverence, allowing us to encounter everyday epiphanies.
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Midnight brought on the dusky hour Friendliest to sleep and silence.
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Yet I argue not Against Heav'n's hand or will, nor bate a jot Of heart or hope but still bear up and steer Right onward.
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The debt immense of endless gratitude, So burthensome, still paying, still to owe Forgetful what from him I still receivd, And understood not that a grateful mind By owing owes not, but still pays, at once Indebted and dischargd what burden then?
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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
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This manner of writing wherein knowing myself inferior to myself? I have the use, as I may account it, but of my left hand.
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And the earth self-balanced on her centre hung.
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From restless thoughts, that, like a deadly swarm Of hornets arm'd, no sooner found alone, But rush upon me thronging.
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Reason is also choice.
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And sing to those that hold the vital shears And turn the adamantine spindle round, On which the fate of gods and men is wound.
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Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise. That last infirmity of noble mind. To scorn delights, and live laborious days.
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It is Chastity, my brother. She that has that is clad in complete steel.
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The Tree of Knowledge grew fast by, Knowledge of Good bought dear by knowing ill.
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So glistered the dire Snake , and into fraud Led Eve, our credulous mother, to the Tree Of Prohibition, root of all our woe.
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