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Heaven Is as the Book of God before thee set, Wherein to read His wondrous works.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Wondrous
Thee
Works
Heaven
Read
Book
Wherein

More quotes by John Milton

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He who tempts, though in vain, at last asperses The tempted with dishonor foul, supposed Not incorruptible of faith, not proof Against temptation.
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Hail, holy light! offspring of heaven firstborn! Or of th' eternal co-eternal beam, May I express thee unblam'd? since God is light And never but in unapproached light Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee, Bright effluence of bright essence increate!
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Come and trip it as ye go On the light fantastic toe.
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A limbo large and broad, since call'd The Paradise of Fools to few unknown.
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Eloquence the soul, song charms the senses.
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With thee conversing I forget all time.
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Anon out of the earth a fabric huge Rose, like an exhalation.
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Ornate rhetorick taught out of the rule of Plato.... To which poetry would be made subsequent, or indeed rather precedent, as being less suttle and fine, but more simple, sensuous, and passionate.
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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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Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, With charm of earliest birds.
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In vain doth valour bleed, While Avarice and Rapine share the land.
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United thoughts and counsels, equal hope And hazard in the glorious enterprise.
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Part of my soul I seek thee, and claim thee my other half
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Th' ethereal mould Incapable of stain would soon expel Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire, Victorious. Thus repuls'd, our final hope Is flat despair.
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If we think we regulate printing, thereby to rectify manners, we must regulate all regulations and pastimes, all that is delightful to man.
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Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts And eloquence.
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My heart contains of good, wise, just, the perfect shape.
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And sing to those that hold the vital shears And turn the adamantine spindle round, On which the fate of gods and men is wound.
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Abash'd the Devil stood, And felt how awful goodness is.
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Nothing lovelier can be found In woman, than to study household good, And good works in her husband to promote.
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