John Milton
John Milton
John Miltonwas an English poet, polemicist, and man of letters, and a civil servant for the Commonwealth of England under Oliver Cromwell. He wrote at a time of religious flux and political upheaval, and is best known for his epic poem Paradise Lost, written in blank verse...
NationalityEnglish
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth9 December 1608
order voice light
Confusion heard his voice, and wild uproar Stood ruled, stood vast infinitude confined; Till at his second bidding darkness fled, Light shone, and order from disorder sprung.
farewell
Hope allows us to bid farewell to fear.
basketball confidence inspiration
Confidence imparts a wonderful inspiration to the possessor.
art father should
Thou art my father, thou my author, thou my being gav'st me; whom should I obey but thee, whom follow?
men liberty ease
How oft, in nations gone corrupt, And by their own devices brought down to servitude, That man chooses bondage before liberty. Bondage with ease before strenuous liberty.
crow devil awful
Abash'd the Devil stood, And felt how awful goodness is,.....
lips
From his lips/Not words alone pleased her.
truth impossible truth-is
Truth is as impossible to be soiled by any outward touch as the sunbeam.
flames light darkness
Yet from those flames No light, but rather darkness visible.
woe stills eternal
Still paying, still to owe. Eternal woe!
flesh thee states
Our state cannot be severed, we are one, One flesh; to lose thee were to lose myself.
helping god-help-me immortality
What am I pondering, you ask? So help me God, immortality.
pain hate grief
Of four infernal rivers that disgorge/ Into the burning Lake their baleful streams;/Abhorred Styx the flood of deadly hate,/Sad Acheron of sorrow, black and deep;/Cocytus, nam'd of lamentation loud/ Heard on the rueful stream; fierce Phlegethon/ Whose waves of torrent fire inflame with rage./ Far off from these a slow and silent stream,/ Lethe the River of Oblivion rolls/ Her wat'ry Labyrinth whereof who drinks,/ Forthwith his former state and being forgets,/ Forgets both joy and grief, pleasure and pain.
pain night intellectual
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?