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We read not that Christ ever exercised force but once and that was to drive profane ones out of his Temple, not to force them in.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Ones
Read
Christ
Force
Exercised
Ever
Profane
Temple
Temples
Drive

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A good principle not rightly understood may prove as hurtful as a bad.
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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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Never can true reconcilement grow where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep.
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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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Wisdom's self oft seeks to sweet retired solitude, where with her best nurse Contemplation, she plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings that in the various bustle of resort were all to-ruffled, and sometimes impaired.
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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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Don't hold grudges it's pointless. Jealousy too is a non-cathartic, negative emotion. .
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Infinity is a dark illimitable ocean, without bound.
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My latest found, Heaven's last, best gift, my ever new delight!
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What reinforcement we may gain from hope If not, what resolution from despair.
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Arm the obdured breast with stubborn patience as with triple steel.
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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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O sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams That bring to my remembrance from what state I fell, how glorious once above thy sphere.
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So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning sky.
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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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Eye me, blest Providence, and square my trial To my proportion'd strength.
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Hide me from day's garish eye.
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On a sudden open fly With impetuous recoil and jarring sound Th' infernal doors, and on their hinges grate Harsh thunder.
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The teachers of our law, and to propose What might improve my knowledge or their own.
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