John Milton (December 9, 1608 – November 8, 1674) was an English poet, polemicist, 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 (1667), written in blank verse. (Click here for full Wikipedia article)
Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.
But what is strength without a double share
Death is the golden key that opens the palace of eternity.
For what can war, but endless war, still breed?
Give me the liberty to know, to utter, and to argue freely according to conscience, above all liberties.
Gratitude bestows reverence, allowing us to encounter everyday epiphanies, those transcendent moments of awe that change forever how we experience life and the world.
He that has light within his own clear breast May sit in the centre, and enjoy bright day: But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts Benighted walks under the mid-day sun; Himself his own dungeon.
He that studieth revenge keepeth his own wounds green, which otherwise would heal and do well.
He who reigns within himself and rules passions, desires, and fears is more than a king.
I will not deny but that the best apology against false accusers is silence and sufferance, and honest deeds set against dishonest words.
Men of most renowned virtue have sometimes by transgressing most truly kept the law.
New Presbyter is but Old Priest writ Large.
No man who knows aught, can be so stupid to deny that all men naturally were born free.
None can love freedom heartily, but good men; the rest love not freedom, but license.
Peace hath her victories
No less renowned than war.
Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie.
The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a heaven of Hell, a hell of Heaven.
The stars, that nature hung in heaven, and filled their lamps with everlasting oil, give due light to the misled and lonely traveller.
The superior man acquaints himself with many sayings of antiquity and many deeds of the past, in order to strengthen his character thereby.
There is no truth sure enough to justify persecution.
They also serve who only stand and wait.
True it is that covetousness is rich, modesty starves.
Truth never comes into the world but like a bastard, to the ignominy of him that brought her birth.
What hath night to do with sleep?
Night hath better sweets to prove,
When complaints are freely heard, deeply considered and speedily reformed, then is the utmost bound of civil liberty attained that wise men look for.
Who kills a man kills a reasonable creature, God's image, but thee who destroys a good book, kills reason its self.
Who overcomes by force, hath overcome but half his foe.