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Arm the obdured breast with stubborn patience as with triple steel.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Arms
Triple
Breast
Stubborn
Steel
Breasts
Patience

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Of calling shapes, and beck'ning shadows dire, And airy tongues that syllable men's names.
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The conquer'd, also, and enslaved by war, Shall, with their freedom lost, all virtue lose.
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When language in common use in any country becomes irregular and depraved, it is followed by their ruin and degradation. For what do terms used without skill or meaning, which are at once corrupt and misapplied, denote but a people listless, supine, and ripe for servitude?
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Lethe, the river of oblivion, rolls his watery labyrinth, which whoso drinks forgets both joy and grief.
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And yet on the other hand unless warinesse be us'd, as good almost kill a Man as kill a good Book who kills a Man kills a reasonable creature, Gods Image, but hee who destroyes a good Booke, kills reason it selfe, kills the Image of God, as it were in the eye.
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With a smile that glow'd Celestial rosy red, love's proper hue.
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Death to life is crown or shame.
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Fame is the last infirmity of the human mind.
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The virtuous mind that ever walks attended By a strong siding champion, Conscience.
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Let us seek Death, or he not found, supply With our own hands his office on ourselves Why stand we longer shivering under fears, That show no end but death, and have the power, Of many ways to die the shortest choosing, Destruction with destruction to destroy.
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First Moloch, horrid king, besmirched in blood, Of Human sacrifice, and parent's tears, Though, for the noise of drums and timbrels loud, Their childrens' cries unheard, that passed through fire, To his grim idol.
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His rod revers'd, And backward mutters of dissevering power.
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A limbo large and broad, since call'd The Paradise of Fools to few unknown.
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How gladly would I meet mortality, my sentence, and be earth in sensible! How glad would lay me down, as in my mother's lap! There I should rest, and sleep secure.
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Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail Or knock the breast, no weakness, no contempt, Dispraise, or blame,-nothing but well and fair, And what may quiet us in a death so noble.
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God doth not need Either man's work or his own gifts. Who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state Is kingly: thousands at his bidding speed, And post o'er land and ocean without rest They also serve who only stand and wait.
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So hand in hand they passed, the loveliest pair that ever since in love's embraces met -- Adam, the goodliest man of men since born his sons the fairest of her daughters Eve.
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And these gems of Heav'n, her starry train.
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And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet, Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet.
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Beyond is all abyss, eternity, whose end no eye can reach.
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