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Sole reigning holds the tyranny of Heav'n.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Heav
Sole
Holds
Tyranny
Reigning

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Gratitude bestows reverence, allowing us to encounter everyday epiphanies.
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So dear to heav'n is saintly chastity, That when a soul is found sincerely so, A thousand liveried angels lackey her, Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt, And in clear dream and solemn vision Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear, Till oft converse with heav'nly habitants Begin to cast a beam on th' outward shape.
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Be lowly wise: Think only what concerns thee and thy being.
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O madness to think use of strongest wines And strongest drinks our chief support of health, When God with these forbidden made choice to rear His mighty champion, strong above compare, Whose drink was only from the liquid brook.
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His sleep Was aery light, from pure digestion bred.
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His form had yet not lost All her original brightness, nor appear'd Less than archangel ruin'd, and th' excess Of glory obscur'd.
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Nor from hell One step no more than from himself can fly By change of place.
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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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Time, though in Eternity, applied To motion, measures all things durable By present, past, and future.
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Biochemically, love is just like eating large amounts of chocolate.
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This manner of writing wherein knowing myself inferior to myself? I have the use, as I may account it, but of my left hand.
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They eat, they drink, and in communion sweet Quaff immortality and joy.
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Who, as they sung, would take the prison'd soul And lap it in Elysium.
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What honour that, But tedious waste of time, to sit and hear So many hollow compliments and lies.
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Such joy ambition finds.
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The gay motes that people the sunbeams.
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Meanwhile the Adversary of God and man, Satan with thoughts inflamed of highest design, Puts on swift wings, and towards the gates of hell Explores his solitary flight.
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Let none henceforth seek needless cause to approve The faith they owe when earnestly they seek Such proof, conclude, they then begin to fail.
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Lethe, the river of oblivion, rolls his watery labyrinth, which whoso drinks forgets both joy and grief.
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So may'st thou live, till like ripe fruit thou drop Into thy mother's lap.
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