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Zeal and duty are not slow But on occasion's forelock watchful wait.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Occasion
Occasions
Slow
Wait
Duty
Waiting
Forelock
Opportunity
Watchful
Zeal

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There swift return Diurnal, merely to officiate light Round this opacous earth, this punctual spot.
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If weakness may excuse, What murderer, what traitor, parricide, Incestuous, sacrilegious, but may plead it? All wickedness is weakness that plea, therefore, With God or man will gain thee no remission.
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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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Most men admire Virtue who follow not her lore.
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All seemed well pleased, all seemed, but were not all.
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Servant of God, well done! well hast thou fought The better fight, who single hast maintain'd Against revolted multitudes the cause of truth.
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Who aspires must down as low As high he soar'd.
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He who reigns within himself and rules passions, desires, and fears is more than a king.
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It is not good that man should be alone. ... Hitherto all things that have been named, were approved of God to be very good: loneliness is the first thing which God's eye named not good: whether it be a thing, or the want of something, I labour not.
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Our torments also may in length of time Become our Elements.
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There is no Christian duty that is not to be seasoned and set off with cheerishness, which in a thousand outward and intermitting crosses may yet be done well, as in this vale of tears.
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Time will run back and fetch the Age of Gold.
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So on this windy sea of land, the Fiend Walked up and down alone bent on his prey.
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Who kills a man kills a reasonable creature, God's image but he who destroys a good book, kills reason itself, kills the image of God, as it were, in the eye.
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And may at last my weary age Find out the peaceful hermitage, The hairy gown and mossy cell, Where I may sit and rightly spell Of every star that heaven doth shew, And every herb that sips the dew, Till old experience to attain To something like prophetic strain.
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Imparadis'd in one another's arms.
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The love-lorn nightingale nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well.
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What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice, Of Attic taste?
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Fear of change perplexes monarchs.
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Courage never to submit of yield.
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