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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
Temples
Drive
Ones
Read
Christ
Force
Exercised
Ever
Profane
Temple
More quotes by John Milton
But let my due feet never fail To walk the studious cloisters pale, And love the high embowed roof, With antique pillars massy proof, And storied windows richly dight Casting a dim religious light.
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Love Virtue, she alone is free, She can teach ye how to climb Higher than the sphery chime Or, if Virtue feeble were, Heav'n itself would stoop to her.
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Angels contented with their face in heaven, Seek not the praise of men.
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Let no man seek Henceforth to be foretold that shall befall Him or his children.
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No war or battle sound Was heard the world around.
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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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The conquer'd, also, and enslaved by war, Shall, with their freedom lost, all virtue lose.
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The great creator from his work returned Magnificent, his six days' work, a world.
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And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet, Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet.
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To overcome in battle, and subdue Nations, and bring home spoils with infinite Man-slaughter, shall be held the highest pitch Of human glory.
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If this fail, The pillar'd firmament is rottenness, And earth's base built on stubble.
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Abash'd the Devil stood, And felt how awful goodness is.
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Necessity and chance Approach not me, and what I will is fate.
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Witness this new-made world, another Heav'n From Heaven Gate not farr, founded in view On the clear Hyaline, the Glassie Sea Of amplitude almost immense, with Starr's Numerous, and every Starr perhaps a world Of destined habitation.
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In argument with men a woman ever Goes by the worse, whatever be her cause.
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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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So dear I love him, that with him, all deaths I could endure, without him, live no life.
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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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My heart contains of good, wise, just, the perfect shape.
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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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