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Hell has no benefits, only torture.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Torture
Benefits
Hell

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For the air of youth, Hopeful and cheerful, in thy blood will reign A melancholy damp of cold and dry To weigh thy spirits down, and last consume The balm of life.
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Fairy damsels met in forest wide / By knights of Logres, or of Lyones, / Lancelot or Pelleas, or Pellenore.
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Blind mouths! That scarce themselves know how to hold A sheep-hook.
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Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones Forget not.
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Let us descend now therefore from this top Of speculation.
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Truth is compared in Scripture to a streaming fountain if her waters flow not in perpetual progression, they sicken into a muddy pool of conformity and tradition.
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Necessity and chance Approach not me, and what I will is fate.
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Sweet intercourse of looks and smiles for smiles from reason flow.
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The Tree of Knowledge grew fast by, Knowledge of Good bought dear by knowing ill.
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To many a youth and many a maid, dancing in the chequer'd shade.
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In discourse more sweet For eloquence the soul, song charms the sense. Others apart sat on a hill retir'd, In thoughts more elevate, and reason'd high Of providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate, Fix'd fate, free-will, foreknowledge absolute And found no end, in wand'ring mazes lost.
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My latest found, Heaven's last, best gift, my ever new delight!
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Nor love thy life, nor hate but what thou livest, Live well how long, or short, permit to Heaven.
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Nor think thou with wind Of æry threats to awe whom yet with deeds Thou canst not.
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Live while ye may, Yet happy pair.
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What is dark within me, illumine.
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And now the herald lark Left his ground-nest, high tow'ring to descry The morn's approach, and greet her with his song.
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But O yet more miserable! Myself my sepulchre, a moving grave.
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Of calling shapes, and beck'ning shadows dire, And airy tongues that syllable men's names.
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Those whom reason hath equalled, force hath made supreme
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