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Fate shall yield To fickle Chance, and Chaos judge the strife.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Chance
Fickle
Strife
Yield
Judge
Chaos
Judging
Fate
Shall

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He who reigns within himself and rules passions, desires, and fears is more than a king.
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Fear of change perplexes monarchs.
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They eat, they drink, and in communion sweet Quaff immortality and joy.
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But hail thou Goddess sage and holy, Hail, divinest Melancholy, Whose saintly visage is too bright To hit the sense of human sight, And therefore to our weaker view O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue.
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To many a youth and many a maid, dancing in the chequer'd shade.
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A dungeon horrible, on all sides round, As one great furnace, flamed yet from those flames No light, but rather darkness visible Serv'd only to discover sights of woe, Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace And rest can never dwell, hope never comes That comes to all but torture without end.
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Extol not riches then, the toil of fools, The wise man's cumbrance, if not snare, more apt To slacken virtue, and abate her edge, Than prompt her to do aught may merit praise.
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Assuredly we bring not innocence not the world, we bring impurity much rather: that which purifies us is trial, and trial is by what is contrary.
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Confidence imparts a wonderful inspiration to the possessor.
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So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning sky.
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Abash'd the Devil stood, And felt how awful goodness is.
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