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I on the other side Us'd no ambition to commend my deeds The deeds themselves, though mute, spoke loud the doer.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Though
Mute
Spokes
Spoke
Loud
Deeds
Ambition
Commend
Side
Doer
Sides
Doers

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The olive grove of Academe, Plato's retirement, where the Attic bird Trills her thick-warbled notes the summer long.
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And if by prayer Incessant I could hope to change the will Of Him who all things can, I would not cease To weary Him with my assiduous cries.
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A limbo large and broad, since call'd The Paradise of Fools to few unknown.
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Of calling shapes, and beck'ning shadows dire, And airy tongues that syllable men's names.
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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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O when meet now Such pairs, in love and mutual honour joined?
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What better can we do than prostrate fall before Him reverent, and there confess humbly our faults, and pardon beg with tears watering the ground?
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Dim eclipse, disastrous twilight.
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Few sometimes may know, when thousands err.
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In argument with men a woman ever Goes by the worse, whatever be her cause.
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And to thy husband's will Thine shall submit he over thee shall rule.
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There are no songs comparable to the songs of Zion, no orations equal to those of the prophets, and no politics like those which the Scriptures teach.
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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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For books are not absolutely dead things, but do contain a potency of life in them to be as active as that soul was whose progeny they are nay, they do preserve as in a vial the purest efficacy and extraction of that living intellect that bred them.
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Let none admire that riches grow in hell that soil may best deserve the precious bane.
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Witness this new-made world, another Heav'n From Heaven Gate not farr, founded in view On the clear Hyaline, the Glassie Sea Of amplitude almost immense, with Starr's Numerous, and every Starr perhaps a world Of destined habitation.
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If this fail, The pillar'd firmament is rottenness, And earth's base built on stubble.
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United thoughts and counsels, equal hope And hazard in the glorious enterprise.
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A short retirement urges a sweet return.
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Gratitude bestows reverence, allowing us to encounter everyday epiphanies, those transcendent moments of awe that change forever how we experience life and the world.
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