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A boundless continent, Dark, waste, and wild, under the frown of night Starless expos'd.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Night
Starless
World
Frown
Continent
Boundless
Continents
Wild
Waste
Dark
Expos

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A poet soaring in the high reason of his fancies, with his garland and singing robes about him.
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Anarchy is the sure consequence of tyranny for no power that is not limited by laws can ever be protected by them.
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Where there is much desire to learn, there of necessity will be much arguing, much writing, for opinion in good men is but knowledge in the making.
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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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My latest found, Heaven's last, best gift, my ever new delight!
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Fairy damsels met in forest wide / By knights of Logres, or of Lyones, / Lancelot or Pelleas, or Pellenore.
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So dear I love him, that with him, all deaths I could endure, without him, live no life.
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Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day.
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Confidence imparts a wonderful inspiration to the possessor.
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So on this windy sea of land, the Fiend Walked up and down alone bent on his prey.
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Thence to the famous orators repair, Those ancient, whose resistless eloquence Wielded at will that fierce democratie, Shook the arsenal, and fulmin'd over Greece, To Macedon, and Artaxerxes' throne.
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His sleep Was aery light, from pure digestion bred.
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A thousand fantasies Begin to throng into my memory, Of calling shapes, and beckoning shadows dire, And airy tongues that syllable men's names On sands and shores and desert wildernesses
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It is not good that man should be alone. ... Hitherto all things that have been named, were approved of God to be very good: loneliness is the first thing which God's eye named not good: whether it be a thing, or the want of something, I labour not.
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Nor jealousy Was understood, the injur'd lover's hell.
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Her silent course advance With inoffensive pace, that spinning sleeps On her soft axle.
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Now came still evening on and twilight gray Had in her sober livery all things clad: Silence accompanied for beast and bird, They to they grassy couch, these to their nests, Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale.
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Part of my soul I seek thee, and claim thee my other half
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Abash'd the Devil stood, And felt how awful goodness is.
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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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