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Courage never to submit of yield.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Yield
Courage
Never
Submit

More quotes by John Milton

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Anarchy is the sure consequence of tyranny for no power that is not limited by laws can ever be protected by them.
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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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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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My mansion is, where those immortal shapes Of bright aerial spirits live insphered In regions mild of calm and serene air, Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot Which men call Earth.
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Hide me from day's garish eye, While the bee with honied thigh, That at her flowery work doth sing, And the waters murmuring With such consort as they keep, Entice the dewy-feathered sleep.
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Time, though in Eternity, applied To motion, measures all things durable By present, past, and future.
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In argument with men a woman ever Goes by the worse, whatever be her cause.
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The leaf was darkish, and had prickles on it, But in another country, as he said, Bore a bright golden flow'r, but not in this soil Unknown, and like esteem'd, and the dull swain Treads on it daily with his clouted shoon.
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He that has light within his own clear breast May sit in the centre, and enjoy bright day: But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts Benighted walks under the mid-day sun Himself his own dungeon.
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I will not deny but that the best apology against false accusers is silence and sufferance, and honest deeds set against dishonest words.
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Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old, When all our fathers worshipp'd stocks and stones.
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Awake, arise or be for ever fall’n.
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Just are the ways of God, And justifiable to men Unless there be who think not God at all.
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Man hath his daily work of body or mind Appointed.
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Where all life dies death lives.
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And the earth self-balanced on her centre hung.
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Thus I set my printless feet O'er the cowslip's velvet head, That bends not as I tread.
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It was the winter wild, While the Heaven-born child, All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies.
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O nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill While the jolly hours lead on propitious May.
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Hail, wedded love, mysterious law true source of human happiness.
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