John Milton Quotes

606 Sourced Quotes

Such bickerings to recount, met often in these our writers, what more worth is it than to chronicle the wars of kites or crows flocking and fighting in the air?

John Milton
For contemplation he and valour formed,
For softness she and sweet attractive grace,
He for God only, she for God in him.

John Milton
…What though the field be lost?
All is not lost; the unconquerable will,
And study of revenge, immortal hate,
And courage never to submit or yield:
And what is else not to be overcome?

John Milton
With a smile that glow'd Celestial rosy red, love's proper hue.

John Milton
How gladly would I meet mortality, my sentence, and be earth in sensible! How glad would lay me down, as in my mother's lap! There I should rest, and sleep secure.

John Milton
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.

John Milton
The land had once enfranchised herself from this impertinent yoke of prelaty, under whose inquisitorious and tyrannical duncery no free and splendid wit can flourish.

John Milton
Ask for this great deliverer now, and find him
Eyeless in Gaza at the mill with slaves.

John Milton
The childhood shows the man,
As morning shows the day.

John Milton
Fairy elves, Whose midnight revels by a forest side Or fountain some belated peasant sees, Or dreams he sees, while overhead the moon Sits arbitress.

John Milton
Whence and what art thou, execrable shape?

John Milton
Then lies him down the lubber fiend,
And stretched out all the chimney's length,
Basks at the fire his hairy strength.

John Milton
The sun...
In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds On half the nations, and with fear of change Perplexes monarchs.

John Milton
For books are not absolutely dead things, but do contain a potency of life in them to be as active as that soul was whose progeny they are; nay, they do preserve as in a vial the purest efficacy and extraction of that living intellect that bred them.

John Milton
Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy
In sceptred pall come sweeping by,
Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line,
Or the tale of Troy divine.

John Milton
But who is this, what thing of sea or land?
Female of sex it seems,
That so bedeck'd, ornate, and gay,
Comes this way sailing Like a stately ship Of Tarsus, bound for th' isles Of Javan or Gadire,
With all her bravery on, and tackle trim,
Sails fill'd, and streamers waving,
Courted by all the winds that hold them play;
An amber scent of odorous perfume Her harbinger?

John Milton
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.

John Milton
What reinforcement we may gain from hope;
If not, what resolution from despair.

John Milton
Meadows trim, with daisies pied,
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide;
Towers and balements it sees
Bosomed high in tufted trees,
Where perhaps some beauty lies,
The cynosure of neighboring eyes.

John Milton
Day and night,
Seed-time and harvest, heat and hoary frost
Shall hold their course, till fire purge all things new.

John Milton
To be blind is not miserable; not to be able to bear blindness, that is miserable.

John Milton
They who have put out the people's eyes, reproach them of their blindness.

John Milton
Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose.

John Milton
He knew
Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme.

John Milton
Boast not of what thou would'st have done, but do What then thou would'st.

John Milton
Where the bright seraphim in burning row
Their loud uplifted angel trumpets blow.

John Milton
And through the palpable obscure find out
His uncouth way.

John Milton
Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace And rest can never dwell, hope never comes That comes to all.

John Milton
As one who long in populous city pent,
Where houses thick and sewers annoy the air,
Forth issuing on a summer's morn to breathe
Among the pleasant villages and farms
Adjoined, from each thing met conceives delight.

John Milton
Morn,
Wak'd by the circling hours, with rosy hand Unbarr'd the gates of light.

John Milton