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Angels contented with their face in heaven, Seek not the praise of men.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Face
Heaven
Faces
Men
Contented
Angels
Angel
Praise
Seek

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This is servitude, To serve th'unwise, or him who hath rebelled Against his worthier, as thine now serve thee, Thyself not free, but to thyself enthralled.
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Solitude sometimes is best society.
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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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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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Day and night, Seed-time and harvest, heat and hoary frost Shall hold their course, till fire purge all things new.
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Wisdom's self oft seeks to sweet retired solitude, where with her best nurse Contemplation, she plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings that in the various bustle of resort were all to-ruffled, and sometimes impaired.
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Time is the subtle thief of youth.
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Awake, arise or be for ever fall’n.
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Oft, on a plat of rising ground, I hear the far-off curfew sound Over some wide-watered shore, Swinging low with sullen roar.
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The strongest and the fiercest spirit That fought in heaven, now fiercer by despair.
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Just are the ways of God, And justifiable to men Unless there be who think not God at all.
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Love-quarrels oft in pleasing concord end.
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