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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.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Men
Riches
Aught
Merit
Snare
Edges
Prompt
Praise
Snares
Fool
Prompts
Wise
Toil
Slacken
Virtue
Fools
Abate
May
Edge
Extol

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Our state cannot be severed, we are one, One flesh to lose thee were to lose myself.
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... then there was war in heaven. But it was not angels. It was that small golden zeppelin, like a long oval world, high up. It seemed as if the cosmic order were gone, as if there had come a new order, a new heavens above us: and as if the world in anger were trying to revoke it.
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Peace hath her victories, no less renowned than War.
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And if by prayer Incessant I could hope to change the will Of Him who all things can, I would not cease To weary Him with my assiduous cries.
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Now conscience wakes despair That slumber'd,-wakes the bitter memory Of what he was, what is, and what must be Worse.
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The great creator from his work returned Magnificent, his six days' work, a world.
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As in an organ from one blast of wind To many a row of pipes the soundboard breathes.
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Zeal and duty are not slow But on occasion's forelock watchful wait.
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They who have put out the people's eyes reproach them of their blindness.
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Revenge, at first though sweet, Bitter ere long back on itself recoils.
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You can make hell out of heaven and heaven out of hell. It's all in the mind.
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Time is the subtle thief of youth.
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Ink is the blood of the printing-press.
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For such kind of borrowing as this, if it be not bettered by the borrowers, among good authors is accounted Plagiarè.
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Th'invention all admir'd, and each, how he to be th'inventor miss'd so easy it seem'd once found, which yet unfound most would have thought impossible.
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But peaceful was the night Wherein the Prince of Light His reign of peace upon the earth began.
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God shall be all in all.
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Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, With charm of earliest birds.
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Hung over her enamour'd, and beheld Beauty, which, whether waking or asleep, Shot forth peculiar graces.
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Gratitude bestows reverence.....changing forever how we experience life and the world.
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