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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
Side
Doer
Sides
Doers
Though
Mute
Spokes
Spoke
Loud
Deeds
Ambition
Commend

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Truth and understanding are not such wares as to be monopolized and traded in by tickets and statutes and standards. We must not think to make a staple commodity of all the knowledge in the land, to mark and license it like our broadcloth and our woolpacks.
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Where eldest Night And Chaos, ancestors of Nature, hold Eternal anarchy amidst the noise Of endless wars, and by confusion stand For hot, cold, moist, and dry, four champions fierce, Strive here for mast'ry.
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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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Satan so call him now, his former name Is heard no more in heaven.
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A short retirement urges a sweet return.
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Reason is also choice.
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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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The superior man acquaints himself with many sayings of antiquity and many deeds of the past, in order to strengthen his character thereby.
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God, who oft descends to visit men Unseen, and through their habitations walks To mark their doings.
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Beauty is Nature's coin, must not be hoarded, But must be current, and the good thereof Consists in mutual and partaken bliss.
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Socrates... Whom well inspir'd the oracle pronounc'd Wisest of men.
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The redundant locks, robustious to no purpose, clustering down--vast monument of strength.
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They who have put out the people's eyes reproach them of their blindness.
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Moping melancholy And moon-struck madness.
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Let not England forget her precedence of teaching nations how to live.
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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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With thee conversing I forget all time.
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His sleep Was aery light, from pure digestion bred.
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And storied windows richly dight, Casting a dim religious light.
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But pain is perfect misery, the worst Of evils, and excessive, overturns All patience.
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