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God Doth Not Need Either Man's Work Or His Own Gifts. Who Best Bear His Mild Yoke, They Serve Him Best. His State Is Kingly: Thousands At His Bidding Speed, And Post O'er Land And Ocean Without Rest; They Also Serve Who Only Stand And Wait.

-John Milton

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God Doth Not Need

John Milton

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God Doth Not Need Either Man's Work Or His Own Gifts. Who Best Bear His Mild Yoke, They Serve Him Best. His State Is Kingly: Thousands At His Bidding Speed, And Post O'er Land And Ocean Without Rest; They Also Serve Who Only Stand And Wait.

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Our Torments Also May In Length Of Time Become Our Elements, These Piercing Fires As Soft As Now Severe, Our Temper Changed Into Their Temper.

Lifted Up So High I Disdained Subjection, And Thought One Step Higher Would Set Me Highest.

A Boundless Continent, Dark, Waste, And Wild, Under The Frown Of Night Starless Expos'd.

Eye Me, Blest Providence, And Square My Trial To My Proportion'd Strength.

O When Meet Now Such Pairs, In Love And Mutual Honour Joined?

Th' Imperial Ensign, Which Full High Advanc'd Shone Like A Meteor, Streaming To The Wind.

Let Us No More Contend, Nor Blame Each Other, Blamed Enough Elsewhere, But Strive, In Offices Of Love, How We May Lighten Each Other's Burden.

The Never-ending Flight Of Future Days.

When We Speak Of Knowing God, It Must Be Understood With Reference To Man's Limited Powers Of Comprehension. God, As He Really Is, Is Far Beyond Man's Imagination, Let Alone Understanding. God Has Revealed Only So Much Of Himself As Our Minds Can Conceive And The Weakness Of Our Nature Can Bear.

Who Overcomes By Force, Hath Overcome But Half His Foe.

Thus Belial, With Words Clothed In Reason's Garb, Counseled Ignoble Ease, And Peaceful Sloth, Not Peace.

Enflamed With The Study Of Learning And The Admiration Of Virtue; Stirred Up With High Hopes Of Living To Be Brave Men And Worthy Patriots, Dear To God, And Famous To All Ages.

Hope Allows Us To Bid Farewell To Fear.

Those Graceful Acts, Those Thousand Decencies, That Daily Flow From All Her Words And Actions, Mixed With Love And Sweet Compliance, Which Declare Unfeigned Union Of Mind, Or In Us Both One Soul.

And Live Like Nature's Bastards, Not Her Sons.

Was I Deceiv'd, Or Did A Sable Cloud Turn Forth Her Silver Lining On The Night?

Back To Thy Punishment, False Fugitive, And To Thy Speed Add Wings.

Evil, Be Thou My Good.

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.

As Therefore The State Of Man Now Is, What Wisdom Can There Be To Choose, What Continence To Forbear, Without The Knowledge Of Good And Evil?

Solitude Is Sometimes The Best Society.

A Good Book Is The Precious Lifeblood Of A Master Spirit.

Indu'd With Sanctity Of Reason.

Awake, Arise Or Be For Ever Fall’n.

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.

Govern Well Thy Appetite, Lest Sin Surprise Thee, And Her Black Attendant Death.

The Work Under Our Labour Grows, Luxurious By Restraint.

O Dark, Dark, Dark, Amid The Blaze Of Noon, Irrecoverably Dark, Total Eclipse Without All Hope Of Day!

Loneliness Is The First Thing Which God's Eye Named Not Good.

And What Is Faith, Love, Virtue Unassayed Alone, Without Exterior Help Sustained?

Midnight Brought On The Dusky Hour Friendliest To Sleep And Silence.

The Oracles Are Dumb, No Voice Or Hideous Hum Runs Through The Arched Roof In Words Deceiving. Apollo From His Shrine Can No More Divine, With Hollow Shriek The Steep Of Delphos Leaving. No Nightly Trance Or Breathed Spell Inspires The Pale-eyed Priest From The Prophetic Cell.

In Dim Eclipse, Disastrous Twilight Sheds On Half The Nations, And With Fear Of Change Perplexes Monarchs.

No Mighty Trance, Or Breathed Spell Inspires The Pale-eyed Priest From The Prophetic Cell.

Him That Yon Soars On Golden Wing, Guiding The Fiery-wheelèd Throne, The Cherub Contemplation.

God Shall Be All In All.

Time Is The Subtle Thief Of Youth.

Nor Turned I Ween Adam From His Fair Spouse, Nor Eve The Rites Mysterious Of Connubial Love Refused: Whatever Hypocrites Austerely Talk Of Purity And Place And Innocence, Defaming As Impure What God Declares Pure, And Commands To Some, Leaves Free To All.

Knowledge Forbidden? Suspicious, Reasonless. Why Should Their Lord Envy Them That? Can It Be A Sin To Know? Can It Be Death?

Th' Ethereal Mould Incapable Of Stain Would Soon Expel Her Mischief, And Purge Off The Baser Fire, Victorious. Thus Repuls'd, Our Final Hope Is Flat Despair.

Boast Not Of What Thou Would'st Have Done, But Do.

So Scented The Grim Feature, And Upturn'd His Nostril Wide Into The Murky Air, Sagacious Of His Quarry From So Far.

Therefore God's Universal Law Gave To The Man Despotic Power Over His Female In Due Awe, Not From That Right To Part An Hour, Smile She Or Lour.

His Spear, To Equal Which The Tallest Pine Hewn On Norwegian Hills To Be The Mast Of Some Great Ammiral Were But A Wand, He Walk'd With To Support Uneasy Steps Over The Burning Marle.

In Naked Beauty More Adorn'd, More Lovely Than Pandora.

Hail, Wedded Love, Mysterious Law; True Source Of Human Happiness.

Imparadis'd In One Another's Arms.

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.

And Pomp, And Feast, And Revelry, With Mask, And Antique Pageantry, Such Sights As Youthful Poets Dream On Summer Eves By Haunted Stream. Then To The Well-trod Stage Anon, If Jonson's Learned Sock Be On, Or Sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's Child, Warble His Native Wood-notes Wild, And Ever, Against Eating Cares, Lap Me In Soft Lydian Airs, Married To Immortal Verse Such As The Meeting Soul May Pierce, In Notes With Many A Winding Bout Of Linked Sweetness Long Drawn Out.

So May'st Thou Live, Till Like Ripe Fruit Thou Drop Into Thy Mother's Lap, Or Be With Ease Gathered, Not Harshly Plucked, For Death Mature: This Is Old Age; But Then Thou Must Outlive Thy Youth, Thy Strength, Thy Beauty, Which Will Change To Withered Weak And Grey.

Assuredly We Bring Not Innocence Not The World, We Bring Impurity Much Rather: That Which Purifies Us Is Trial, And Trial Is By What Is Contrary.

The Hungry Sheep Look Up, And Are Not Fed.

The Redundant Locks, Robustious To No Purpose, Clustering Down--vast Monument Of Strength.

Gratitude Bestows Reverence, Allowing Us To Encounter Everyday Epiphanies, Those Transcendent Moments Of Awe That Change Forever How We Experience Life And The World.

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.

Arms On Armour Clashing Bray'd Horrible Discord, And The Madding Wheels Of Brazen Chariots Rag'd: Dire Was The Noise Of Conflict.

Sweet Is The Breath Of Morn, Her Rising Sweet, With Charm Of Earliest Birds.

A Gulf Profound As That Serbonian Bog Betwixt Damiata And Mount Casius Old, Where Armies Whole Have Sunk: The Parching Air Burns Frore, And Cold Performs Th' Effect Of Fire. Thither By Harpy-footed Furies Hal'd, At Certain Revolutions All The Damn'd Are Brought, And Feel By Turns The Bitter Change Of Fierce Extremes,-extremes By Change More Fierce; From Beds Of Raging Fire To Starve In Ice Their Soft Ethereal Warmth, And There To Pine Immovable, Infix'd, And Frozen Round, Periods Of Time; Thence Hurried Back To Fire.

You Can Make Hell Out Of Heaven And Heaven Out Of Hell. It's All In The Mind.

And Storied Windows Richly Dight, Casting A Dim Religious Light. There Let The Pealing Organ Blow, To The Full-voiced Choir Below, In Service High, And Anthems Clear As May, With Sweetness, Through Mine Ear Dissolve Me Into Ecstasies, And Bring All Heaven Before Mine Eyes.

Hell Has No Benefits, Only Torture.

For Stories Teach Us, That Liberty Sought Out Of Season, In A Corrupt And Degenerate Age, Brought Rome Itself To A Farther Slavery: For Liberty Hath A Sharp And Double Edge, Fit Only To Be Handled By Just And Virtuous Men; To Bad And Dissolute, It Becomes A Mischief Unwieldy In Their Own Hands: Neither Is It Completely Given, But By Them Who Have The Happy Skill To Know What Is Grievance And Unjust To A People, And How To Remove It Wisely; What Good Laws Are Wanting, And How To Frame Them Substantially, That Good Men May Enjoy The Freedom Which They Merit, And The Bad The Curb Which They Need.

Let No Man Seek Henceforth To Be Foretold That Shall Befall Him Or His Children.

Courage Never To Submit Of Yield.

Behold Now This Vast City [london]; A City Of Refuge, The Mansion-house Of Liberty, Encompassed And Surrounded With His Protection.

The Planets In Their Station List'ning Stood.

But Peaceful Was The Night Wherein The Prince Of Light His Reign Of Peace Upon The Earth Began.

It Is For Homely Features To Keep Home,- They Had Their Name Thence; Coarse Complexions And Cheeks Of Sorry Grain Will Serve To Ply The Sampler And To Tease The Huswife's Wool. What Need A Vermeil-tinctur'd Lip For That, Love-darting Eyes, Or Tresses Like The Morn?

Such As The Meeting Soul May Pierce, In Notes With Many A Winding Bout Of Linked Sweetness Long Drawn Out.

Yet Some There Be That By Due Steps Aspire To Lay Their Just Hands On That Golden Key That Opes The Palace Of Eternity.

The Liberty Of Conscience, Which Above All Other Things Ought To Be To All Men Dearest And Most Precious.

And Now The Herald Lark Left His Ground-nest, High Tow'ring To Descry The Morn's Approach, And Greet Her With His Song.

Hence, Loathèd Melancholy, Of Cerberus And Blackest Midnight Born, In Stygian Cave Forlorn, 'mongst Horrid Shapes, And Shrieks, And Sights Unholy.

For God Will Deign To Visit Oft The Dwellings Of Just Men -- Delighted, And With Frequent Intercourse -- Thither Will Send His Winged Messengers On Errants Of Supernal Grace.

Opinion In Good Men Is But Knowledge In The Making.

Few Sometimes May Know, When Thousands Err.

Son Of Heav'n And Earth, Attend: That Thou Art Happy, Owe To God; That Thou Continuest Such, Owe To Thyself, That Is, To Thy Obedience; Therein Stand.

Thick As Autumnal Leaves That Strow The Brooks In Vallombrosa, Where Th' Etrurian Shades High Over-arch'd Imbower.

Now The Bright Morning-star, Day's Harbinger, Comes Dancing From The East.

Be Strong, Live Happy And Love, But First Of All Him Whom To Love Is To Obey, And Keep His Great Command!

Man Hath His Daily Work Of Body Or Mind Appointed, Which Declares His Dignity, And The Regard Of Heav'n On All His Ways.

Hail, Holy Light! Offspring Of Heaven Firstborn! Or Of Th' Eternal Co-eternal Beam, May I Express Thee Unblam'd? Since God Is Light And Never But In Unapproached Light Dwelt From Eternity, Dwelt Then In Thee, Bright Effluence Of Bright Essence Increate!

The Virtuous Mind That Ever Walks Attended By A Strong Siding Champion, Conscience.

When Complaints Are Freely Heard, Deeply Considered And Speedily Reformed, Then Is The Utmost Bound Of Civil Liberty Attained That Wise Men Look For.

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.

The Great Creator From His Work Returned Magnificent, His Six Days' Work, A World.

In Those Vernal Seasons Of The Year When The Air Is Calm And Pleasant, It Were An Injury And Sullenness Against Nature Not To Go Out And See Her Riches, And Partake In Her Rejoicing With Heaven And Earth.

What Hath Night To Do With Sleep?

God Made Thee Perfect, Not Immutable.

Just Are The Ways Of God, And Justifiable To Men; Unless There Be Who Think Not God At All.

His Sleep Was Aery Light, From Pure Digestion Bred.

Or If Virtue Feeble Were, Heav'n Itself Would Stoop To Her.

Don't Hold Grudges; It's Pointless. Jealousy Too Is A Non-cathartic, Negative Emotion. .

To Many A Youth And Many A Maid, Dancing In The Chequer'd Shade.

To Live A Life Half Dead, A Living Death.

The Strongest And The Fiercest Spirit That Fought In Heaven, Now Fiercer By Despair.

The Greatest Burden In The World Is Superstition, Not Only Of Ceremonies In The Church, But Of Imaginary And Scarecrow Sins At Home.

Some Say No Evil Thing That Walks By Night, In Fog Or Fire, By Lake Or Moorish Fen, Blue Meagre Hag, Or Stubborn Unlaid Ghost That Breaks His Magic Chains At Curfew Time, No Goblin, Or Swart Fairy Of The Mine, Hath Hurtful Power O'er True Virginity.

Such Sober Certainty Of Waking Bliss.

How Wearisom Eternity So Spent In Worship Paid To Whom We Hate. Let Us Not Then Pursue By Force Impossible, By Leave Obtain'd Unacceptable, Though In Heav'n, Our State Of Splendid Vassalage, But Rather Seek Our Own Good From Our Selves, And From Our Own Live To Our Selves, Though In This Vast Recess, Free, And To None Accountable, Preferring Hard Liberty Before The Easie Yoke Of Servile Pomp

Zeal And Duty Are Not Slow But On Occasion's Forelock Watchful Wait.

What Reinforcement We May Gain From Hope; If Not, What Resolution From Despair.

Now Came Still Evening On, And Twilight Gray Had In Her Sober Livery All Things Clad; Silence Accompany'd; For Beast And Bird, They To Their Grassy Couch, These To Their Nests, Were Slunk, All But The Wakeful Nightingale; She All Night Long Her Amorous Descant Sung; Silence Was Pleas'd. Now Glow'd The Firmament With Living Sapphires; Hesperus, That Led The Starry Host, Rode Brightest, Till The Moon, Rising In Clouded Majesty, At Length Apparent Queen Unveil'd Her Peerless Light, And O'er The Dark Her Silver Mantle Threw.

To Know That Which Lies Before Us In Daily Life Is The Prime Wisdom.

I Fled, And Cry'd Out, Death; Hell Trembled At The Hideous Name, And Sigh'd From All Her Caves, And Back Resounded, Death.

Who Aspires Must Down As Low As High He Soar'd.

Paradise Lost Book 9

And Join With Thee Calm Peace And Quiet, Spare Fast, That Oft With Gods Doth Diet.

There Are No Songs Comparable To The Songs Of Zion, No Orations Equal To Those Of The Prophets, And No Politics Like Those Which The Scriptures Teach.

He Who Reigns Within Himself And Rules Passions, Desires, And Fears Is More Than A King.

O'er Many A Frozen, Many A Fiery Alp, Rocks, Caves, Lakes, Fens, Bogs, Dens, And Shades Of Death.

I Was All Ear, And Took In Strains That Might Create A Soul Under The Ribs Of Death.

What Am I Pondering, You Ask? So Help Me God, Immortality.

Is It True, O Christ In Heaven, That The Highest Suffer The Most? That The Strongest Wander Furthest And Most Hopelessly Are Lost? That The Mark Of Rank In Nature Is Capacity For Pain? That The Anguish Of The Singer Makes The Sweetness Of The Strain?

Who Would Not, Finding Way, Break Loose From Hell, . . . . And Boldly Venture To Whatever Place Farthest From Pain?

Danger Will Wink On Opportunity.

None Can Love Freedom Heartily, But Good Men; The Rest Love Not Freedom, But License.

For Spirits When They Please Can Either Sex Assume, Or Both; So Soft And Uncompounded Is Their Essence Pure, Not Tied Or Manacled With Joint Or Limb, Nor Founded On The Brittle Strength Of Bones, Like Cumbrous Flesh; But In What Shape They Choose Dilated Or Condensed, Bright Or Obscure, Can Execute Their Airy Purposes, And Works Of Love Or Enmity Fulfil.

In The Sweat Of Thy Face Thou Shalt Eat Bread, Till Thou Return Unto The Ground; For Thou Out Of The Ground Wast Taken; Know Thy Birth, For Dust Thou Art, And Shalt To Dust Return.

Hate Is Of All Things The Mightiest Divider, Nay, Is Division Itself. To Couple Hatred, Therefore, Though Wedlock Try All Her Golden Links, And Borrow To Tier Aid All The Iron Manacles And Fetters Of Law, It Does But Seek To Twist A Rope Of Sand.

Virtue Could See To Do What Virtue Would By Her Own Radiant Light, Though Sun And Moon Where In The Flat Sea Sunk.

Yet Hold It More Humane, More Heav'nly, First, By Winning Words To Conquer Willing Hearts, And Make Persuasion Do The Work Of Fear.

And, Re-assembling Our Afflicted Powers, Consult How We May Henceforth Most Offend.

If At Great Things Thou Would'st Arrive, Get Riches First, Get Wealth, And Treasure Heap, Not Difficult, If Thou Hearken To Me; Riches Are Mine, Fortune Is In My Hand, They Whom I Favor Thrive In Wealth Amain, While Virtue, Valor, Wisdom, Sit In Want.

Thrones, Dominions, Princedoms, Virtues, Powers-- If These Magnific Titles Yet Remain Not Merely Titular.

(that Last Infirmity Of Noble Mind) To Scorn Delights, And Live Laborious Days; But The Fair Guerdon When We Hope To Find, And Think To Burst Out Into Sudden Blaze, Comes The Blind Fury With Th' Abhorred Shears And Slits The Thin-spun Life.

The Debt Immense Of Endless Gratitude, So Burthensome, Still Paying, Still To Owe; Forgetful What From Him I Still Receivd, And Understood Not That A Grateful Mind By Owing Owes Not, But Still Pays, At Once Indebted And Dischargd; What Burden Then?

Justice Divine Mends Not Her Slowest Pace For Prayers Or Cries.

So Shall The World Go On, To Good Malignant, To Bad Men Benign, Under Her Own Weight Groaning.

Solitude Sometimes Is Best Society.

In Vain Doth Valour Bleed, While Avarice And Rapine Share The Land.

And Yet On The Other Hand Unless Warinesse Be Us'd, As Good Almost Kill A Man As Kill A Good Book; Who Kills A Man Kills A Reasonable Creature, Gods Image, But Hee Who Destroyes A Good Booke, Kills Reason It Selfe, Kills The Image Of God, As It Were In The Eye.

Accuse Not Nature: She Hath Done Her Part; Do Thou But Thine.

Thus With The Year Seasons Return; But Not To Me Returns Day, Or The Sweet Approach Of Even Or Morn, Or Sight Of Vernal Bloom Or Summer's Rose, Or Flocks, Or Herds, Or Human Face Divine; But Cloud Instead, And Ever-during Dark Surrounds Me; From The Cheerful Ways Of Men Cut Off, And For The Book Of Knowledge Fair Presented With A Universal Blank Of Nature's Works, To Me Expung'd And Raz'd, And Wisdom At One Entrance Quite Shut Out.

Thou Canst Not Touch The Freedom Of My Mind.

The Timely Dew Of Sleep.

Who, As They Sung, Would Take The Prison'd Soul And Lap It In Elysium.

Farewell Hope, And With Hope Farewell Fear

Paradise Lost Book 9

The Oracles Are Dumb, No Voice Or Hideous Hum Runs Thro' The Arched Roof In Words Deceiving.

Let None Henceforth Seek Needless Cause To Approve The Faith They Owe; When Earnestly They Seek Such Proof, Conclude, They Then Begin To Fail.

Thus I Set My Printless Feet O'er The Cowslip's Velvet Head, That Bends Not As I Tread.

This Is The Month, And This The Happy Morn, Wherein The Son Of Heaven's Eternal King, Of Wedded Maid And Virgin Mother Born, Our Great Redemption From Above Did Bring.

The Pilot Of The Galilean Lake; Two Massy Keys He Bore, Of Metals Twain (the Golden Opes, The Iron Shuts Amain).

Into This Wild Abyss/ The Womb Of Nature, And Perhaps Her Grave--/ Of Neither Sea, Nor Shore, Nor Air, Nor Fire,/ But All These In Their Pregnant Causes Mixed/ Confusedly, And Which Thus Must Ever Fight,/ Unless The Almighty Maker Them Ordain/ His Dark Materials To Create More Worlds,--/ Into This Wild Abyss The Wary Fiend/ Stood On The Brink Of Hell And Looked A While,/ Pondering His Voyage; For No Narrow Frith/ He Had To Cross.

They Are The Troublers, They Are The Dividers Of Unity, Who Neglect And Don't Permit Others To Unite Those Dissevered Pieces Which Are Yet Wanting To The Body Of Truth.

Come To The Sunset Tree! The Day Is Past And Gone; The Woodman's Axe Lies Free, And The Reaper's Work Is Done.

What Better Can We Do Than Prostrate Fall Before Him Reverent, And There Confess Humbly Our Faults, And Pardon Beg With Tears Watering The Ground?

Of Calling Shapes, And Beck'ning Shadows Dire, And Airy Tongues That Syllable Men's Names.

He Who Tempts, Though In Vain, At Last Asperses The Tempted With Dishonor Foul, Supposed Not Incorruptible Of Faith, Not Proof Against Temptation.

I Will Not Allow My Daughters To Learn Foreign Languages Because One Tongue Is Sufficient For A Woman.

O Fairest Of Creation, Last And Best Of All God's Works, Creature In Whom Excelled Whatever Can To Sight Or Thought Be Formed, Holy, Divine, Good, Amiable, Or Sweet! How Art Thou Lost, How On A Sudden Lost, Defaced, Deflow'red, And Now To Death Devote? Paradise Lost

It Is Not Hard For Any Man Who Hath A Bible In His Hand To Borrow Good Words And Holy Sayings In Abundance; But To Make Them His Own Is A Work Of Grace Only From Above.

From Restless Thoughts, That, Like A Deadly Swarm Of Hornets Arm'd, No Sooner Found Alone, But Rush Upon Me Thronging.

Or Sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's Child!

Look Homeward, Angel, Now, And Melt With Ruth.

The Spirits Perverse With Easy Intercourse Pass To And Fro, To Tempt Or Punish Mortals.

Though All The Winds Of Doctrine Were Let Loose To Play Upon The Earth, So Truth Be In The Field, We Do Injuriously By Licensing And Prohibiting To Misdoubt Her Strength. Let Her And Falsehood Grapple; Who Ever Knew Truth Put To The Worse, In A Free And Open Encounter.

Therefore, If At Great Things Thou Wouldst Arrive, Get Riches First, Get Wealth.

And That Must End Us, That Must Be Our Cure: To Be No More. Sad Cure! For Who Would Lose, Though Full Of Pain, This Intellectual Being, Those Thoughts That Wander Through Eternity, To Perish, Rather, Swallowed Up And Lost In The Wide Womb Of Uncreated Night Devoid Of Sense And Motion?

Then Might Ye See Cowls, Hoods, And Habits With Their Wearers Tost And Flutter'd Into Rags; Then Reliques, Beads, Indulgences, Dispenses, Pardons, Bulls, The Sport Of Winds; All These Upwhirl'd Aloft Fly To The Rearward Of The World Far Off Into A Limbo Large And Broad, Since Called The Paradise Of Fools.

But Infinite In Pardon Is My Judge.

Better To Reign In Hell Than Serve In Heav'n.

Hope Elevates, And Joy Brightens His Crest.

Paradise Lost Book 9

Next, To Make Them Expert In The Usefullest Points Of Grammar; And Withal To Season Them And Win Them Early To The Love Of Virtue And True Labour, Ere Any Flattering Seducement Or Vain Principle Seize Them Wandering, Some Easy And Delightful Book Of Education Would Be Read To Them; Whereof The Greeks Have Store, As Cebes, Plutarch, And Other Socratic Discourses.

. . . For Beauty Stands In The Admiration Only Of Weak Minds Led Captive. Cease To Admire, And All Her Plumes Fall Flat And Shrink Into A Trivial Toy, At Every Sudden Slighting Quite Abash'd.

Where More Is Meant Than Meets The Ear.

Socrates... Whom Well Inspir'd The Oracle Pronounc'd Wisest Of Men.

Let Us Descend Now Therefore From This Top Of Speculation.

The First And Wisest Of Them All Professed To Know This Only, That He Nothing Knew.

Apt Words Have Power To Suage The Tumors Of A Troubled Mind.

Day And Night, Seed-time And Harvest, Heat And Hoary Frost Shall Hold Their Course, Till Fire Purge All Things New.

That Space The Evil One Abstracted Stood From His Own Evil, And For The Time Remained Stupidly Good, Of Enmity Disarmed, Of Guile, Of Hate, Of Envy, Of Revenge .

So Glistered The Dire Snake , And Into Fraud Led Eve, Our Credulous Mother, To The Tree Of Prohibition, Root Of All Our Woe.

Ev'n Them Who Kept Thy Truth So Pure Of Old, When All Our Fathers Worshipp'd Stocks And Stones.

Subdue By Force, Who Reason For Their Law Refuse, Right Reason For Their Law.

Courtesy Which Oft Is Found In Lowly Sheds, With Smoky Rafters, Than In Tapestry Halls And Courts Of Princes, Where It First Was Named.

The Winds With Wonder Whist, Smoothly The Waters Kisst.

Books Are Not Absolutely Dead Things, But Do Contain A Potency Of Life In Them....i Know They Are As Lively And As Vigorously Productive As Those Fabulous Dragon's Teeth And Being Sown Up And Down, May Chance To Spring Up Armed Men.

I Will Not Deny But That The Best Apology Against False Accusers Is Silence And Sufferance, And Honest Deeds Set Against Dishonest Words.

Moping Melancholy And Moon-struck Madness.

More Safe I Sing With Mortal Voice, Unchang'd To Hoarse Or Mute, Though Fall'n On Evil Days, On Evil Days Though Fall'n, And Evil Tongues.

Death To Life Is Crown Or Shame.

Now Came Still Evening On; And Twilight Gray Had In Her Sober Livery All Things Clad: Silence Accompanied; For Beast And Bird, They To They Grassy Couch, These To Their Nests, Were Slunk, All But The Wakeful Nightingale.

Death Ready Stands To Interpose His Dart.

My Heart Contains Of Good, Wise, Just, The Perfect Shape.

Temper Justice With Mercy.

God Doth Not Need Either Man's Work Or His Own Gifts. Who Best Bear His Mild Yoke, They Serve Him Best. His State Is Kingly: Thousands At His Bidding Speed, And Post O'er Land And Ocean Without Rest; They Also Serve Who Only Stand And Wait.

Heav'nly Love Shall Outdoo Hellish Hate

Money Brings Honor, Friends, Conquest, And Realms.

And Feel That I Am Happier Than I Know.

Each Tree Laden With Fairest Fruit, That Hung To Th' Eye Tempting, Stirr'd In Me Sudden Appetite To Pluck And Eat.

To-morrow To Fresh Woods, And Pastures New.

Into This Wild Abyss, The Womb Of Nature And Perhaps Her Grave.

As In An Organ From One Blast Of Wind To Many A Row Of Pipes The Soundboard Breathes.

Which Way I Fly Is Hell; Myself Am Hell.

Nor From Hell One Step No More Than From Himself Can Fly By Change Of Place.

And Oft, Though Wisdom Wake, Suspicion Sleeps At Wisdom's Gate, And To Simplicity Resigns Her Charge, While Goodness Thinks No Ill Where No Ill Seems.

Hide Me From Day's Garish Eye.

Virtue May Be Assailed, But Never Hurt, Surprised By Unjust Force, But Not Enthralled.

A Death-like Sleep, A Gentle Wafting To Immortal Life.

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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