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Evil, be thou my good.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Thou
Evil
Good

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And to the faithful: death, the gate of life.
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To be blind is not miserable not to be able to bear blindness, that is miserable.
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Heaven, the seat of bliss, Brooks not the works of violence and war.
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Perplexed and troubled at his bad success The Tempter stood, nor had what to reply, Discovered in his fraud, thrown from his hope.
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Where there is much desire to learn, there of necessity will be much arguing, much writing, for opinion in good men is but knowledge in the making.
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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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Calm of mind, all passion spent.
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Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay To mould me man? Did I solicit thee From darkness to promote me?
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Our torments also may in length of time Become our elements, these piercing fires As soft as now severe, our temper changed Into their temper.
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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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They eat, they drink, and in communion sweet Quaff immortality and joy.
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How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, stolen on his wing my three-and-twentieth year!
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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.
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The superior man acquaints himself with many sayings of antiquity and many deeds of the past, in order to strengthen his character thereby.
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In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds On half the nations, and with fear of change Perplexes monarchs.
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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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I must not quarrel with the will Of highest dispensation, which herein, Haply had ends above my reach to know.
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Sweet bird that shunn'st the nose of folly, Most musical, most melancholy! Thee, chauntress, oft, the woods among, I woo, to hear thy even-song.
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Boast not of what thou would'st have done, but do.
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God, who oft descends to visit men Unseen, and through their habitations walks To mark their doings.
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