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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
Praise
Snares
Fool
Prompts
Wise
Toil
Slacken
Virtue
Fools
Abate
May
Edge
Extol
Men
Riches
Aught
Merit
Snare
Edges
Prompt

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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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These evils I deserve, and more . . . . Justly, yet despair not of his final pardon, Whose ear is ever open, and his eye Gracious to re-admit the suppliant.
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Suffering for truth's sake Is fortitude to highest victory, And to the faithful death the gate of life.
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To overcome in battle, and subdue Nations, and bring home spoils with infinite Man-slaughter, shall be held the highest pitch Of human glory.
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Mutual love, the crown of all our bliss.
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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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So may'st thou live, till like ripe fruit thou drop Into thy mother's lap, or be with ease Gathered, not harshly plucked, for death mature: This is old age but then thou must outlive Thy youth, thy strength, thy beauty, which will change To withered weak and grey.
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I sung of Chaos and Eternal Night, Taught by the heav'nly Muse to venture down The dark descent, and up to reascend.
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Gratitude bestows reverence, allowing us to encounter everyday epiphanies.
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Biochemically, love is just like eating large amounts of chocolate.
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Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts And eloquence.
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Let none henceforth seek needless cause to approve The faith they owe when earnestly they seek Such proof, conclude, they then begin to fail.
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Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot Which men call earth.
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Thrones, dominions, princedoms, virtues, powers-- If these magnific titles yet remain Not merely titular.
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Arm the obdured breast with stubborn patience as with triple steel.
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I on the other side Us'd no ambition to commend my deeds The deeds themselves, though mute, spoke loud the doer.
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Ask for this great deliverer now, and find him Eyeless in Gaza at the mill with slaves.
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But pain is perfect misery, the worst Of evils, and excessive, overturns All patience.
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