John Milton

"Besser ist es, in der Hölle zu herrschen, als im Himmel dienen."

"Wer einen Menschen tötet, tötet ein vernünftiges Wesen, ein Abbild Gottes; derjenige aber, der ein gutes Buch vernichtet, tötet die Vernunft selbst, tötet sozusagen Gottes Ebenbild im Keime."

"What needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones, The labor of an age in pilèd stones, Or that his hallowed relics should be hid Under a star-y-pointing pyramid? Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name?"

"And so sepúlchred in such pomp dost lie, That kings for such a tomb would wish to die."

"How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, Stol'n on his wing my three-and-twentieth year!"

"Captain or Colonel, or Knight in Arms, Whose chance on these defenceless doors may seize, If ever deed of honour did thee please, Guard them, and him within protect from harms."

"The great Emathian conqueror bid spare The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower Went to the ground."

"Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie."

"Under the shady roof Of branching elm star-proof."

"Fly, envious Time, till thou run out thy race: Call on the lazy leaden-stepping Hours, Whose speed is but the heavy plummet's pace; And glut thyself with what thy womb devours, Which is no more than what is false and vain, And merely mortal dross."

"O nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray Warbl'st at eve, when all the woods are still."

"Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven's joy,"

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

"A poet soaring in the high reason of his fancies, with his garland and singing robes about him."

"By labor and intent study (which I take to be my portion in this life), joined with the strong propensity of nature, I might perhaps leave something so written to after-times, as they should not willingly let it die."

"He who would not be frustrate of his hope to write well hereafter in laudable things ought himself to be a true poem."

"His words ... like so many nimble and airy servitors trip about him at command."

"I will not deny but that the best apology against false accusers is silence and sufferance, and honest deeds set against dishonest words."

"So little care they of beasts to make them men, that by their sorcerous doctrine of formalities, they take the way to transform them out of Christian men into judaizing beasts. Had they but taught the land, or suffered it to be taught, as Christ would it should have been in all plenteous dispensation of the word, then the poor mechanic might have so accustomed his ear to good teaching, as to have discerned between faithful teachers and false. But now, with a most inhuman cruelty, they who have put out the people's eyes, reproach them of their blindness; just as the Pharisees their true fathers were wont, who could not endure that the people should be thought competent judges of Christ's doctrine, although we know they judged far better than those great rabbis: yet “this people,” said they, “that know not the law is accursed.”"

"Truth...never comes into the world but like a bastard, to the ignominy of him that brought her forth."

"Let not England forget her precedence of teaching nations how to live."

"Truth is as impossible to be soiled by any outward touch as the sunbeam."

"Men of most renowned virtue have sometimes by transgressing most truly kept the law."

"New Presbyter is but Old Priest writ Large."

"For other things mild Heav'n a time ordains, And disapproves that care, though wise in show, That with superfluous burden loads the day, And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains."

"For such kind of borrowing as this, if it be not bettered by the borrower, among good authors is accounted Plagiarè."

"None can love freedom heartily, but good men; the rest love not freedom, but license."

"No man who knows aught, can be so stupid to deny that all men naturally were born free."

"Peace hath her victories No less renowned than war."

"When I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide Lodged with me useless."

"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."

"Non est miserum esse caecum, miserum est caecitatem non posse ferre."

"Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold; Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones Forget not."

"Cyriack, whose Grandsire on the Royal Bench Of British Themis, with no mean applause Pronounced and in his volumes taught our Laws, Which others at their Bar so often wrench"

"Yet I argue not Against Heav'n's hand or will, nor bate one jot Of heart or hope; but still bear up, and steer Right onward."

"Of which all Europe rings from side to side."

"In mirth that after no repenting draws."

"Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son"

"Methought I saw my late espousèd saint Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave."

"But oh! as to embrace me she inclined, I waked, she fled, and day brought back my night."

"[Rhyme is] but the invention of a barbarous age, to set off wretched matter and lame Meter; ... Not without cause therefore some both Italian and Spanish poets of prime note have rejected rhyme, ... as have also long since our best English tragedies, as... trivial and of no true musical delight; which [truly] consists only in apt numbers, fit quantity of syllables, and the sense variously drawn out from one verse into another, not in the jingling sound of like endings, a fault avoided by the learned ancients both in poetry and all good oratory."

"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?"

"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."

"Madam, methinks I see him living yet; So well your words his noble virtues praise, That all both judge you to relate them true, And to possess them, honour'd Margaret."

"The end of learning is to know God, and out of that knowledge to love Him and imitate Him."

"Such as may make thee search the coffers round."

"O fairest flower! no sooner blown but blasted, Soft silken primrose fading timelessly."

"Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day."

"As ever in my great Taskmaster's eye."

"That old man eloquent."

"That would have made Quintilian stare and gasp."

"License they mean when they cry, Liberty! For who loves that must first be wise and good."

"What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice, Of Attic taste?"

"Have hung My dank and dropping weeds To the stern god of sea."

"Beholding the bright countenance of truth in the quiet and still air of delightful studies."

"I neither oblige the belief of other person, nor overhastily subscribe mine own. Nor have I stood with others computing or collating years and chronologies, lest I should be vainly curious about the time and circumstance of things, whereof the substance is so much in doubt. By this time, like one who had set out on his way by night, and travelled through a region of smooth or idle dreams, our history now arrives on the confines, where daylight and truth meet us with a clear dawn, representing to our view, though at a far distance, true colours and shapes."

"This is the month, and this the happy morn, Wherein the Son of Heav'n's eternal King, Of wedded maid and virgin mother born, Our great redemption from above did bring; For so the holy sages once did sing, That He our deadly forfeit should release, And with His Father work us a perpetual peace."

"It was the winter wild While the Heav'n-born child All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies."

"No war, or battle's sound Was heard the world around. The idle spear and shield were high up hung."

"Time will run back and fetch the Age of Gold."

"Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail."

"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."

"From haunted spring and dale Edged with poplar pale The parting genius is with sighing sent."

"Peor and Baälim Forsake their temples dim."

"Hence, loathèd Melancholy, Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born, In Stygian cave forlorn, 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy."

"Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee Jest, and youthful jollity, Quips and cranks and wanton wiles, Nods and becks and wreathèd smiles."

"Sport, that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter, holding both his sides. Come, and trip it, as you go. On the light fantastic toe."

"The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty."

"Mirth, admit me of thy crew, To live with her, and live with thee, In unreprovèd pleasures free."

"While the cock with lively din Scatters the rear of darkness thin, And to the stack, or the barn door, Stoutly struts his dames before, Oft list'ning how the hounds and horn Cheerly rouse the slumb'ring morn."

"And every shepherd tells his tale Under the hawthorn in the dale."

"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."

"Herbs, and other country messes, Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses."

"And the jocund rebecks sound To many a youth, and many a maid, Dancing in the checkered shade. And young and old come forth to play On a sunshine holiday."

"Then to the spicy nut-brown ale."

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

"Towered cities please us then, And the busy hum of men."

"Ladies, whose bright eyes Rain influence, and judge the prize."

"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."

"Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony."

"Such strains as would have won the ear Of Pluto, to have quite set free His half-regained Eurydice. These delights, if thou canst give, Mirth, with thee, I mean to live."

"Hence vain deluding Joys, The brood of Folly without father bred!"

"The gay motes that people the sunbeams."

"And looks commercing with the skies, Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes."

"Forget thyself to marble."

"And join with thee, calm Peace and Quiet, Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet."

"And add to these retired Leisure, That in trim gardens takes his pleasure."

"Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly, Most musical, most melancholy!"

"I walk unseen On the dry smooth-shaven green, To behold the wandering moon, Riding near her highest noon, Like one that had been led astray Through the heav'n's wide pathless way, And oft, as if her head she bowed, Stooping through a fleecy cloud."

"Oft, on a plat of rising ground, I hear the far-off curfew sound Over some wide-watered shore, Swinging low with sullen roar."

"Where glowing embers through the room Teach light to counterfeit a gloom, Far from all resort of mirth, Save the cricket on the hearth."

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

"But, O sad Virgin, that thy power Might raise Musaeus from his bower, Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing Such notes as warbled to the string, Drew Iron tears down Pluto's cheek, And made Hell grant what Love did seek."

"Or call up him that left half told The story of Cambuscan bold."

"Where more is meant than meets the ear."

"When the gust hath blown his fill, Ending on the rustling leaves With minute drops from off the eaves."

"Hide me from day's garish eye, While the bee with honied thigh, That at her flowery work doth sing, And the waters murmuring With such consort as they keep, Entice the dewy-feathered sleep."

"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."

"Till old experience do attain To something like prophetic strain."

"He that has light within his own clear breast, May sit i' the centre, and enjoy bright day; But he that hides a dark soul, and foul thoughts, Benighted walks under the mid-day sun; Himself is his own dungeon."

"Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forced fingers rude Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year."

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

"Without the meed of some melodious tear."

"Under the opening eyelids of the morn, We drove afield; and both together heard What time the gray-fly winds her sultry horn, Batt'ning our flocks with the fresh dews of night."

"But O the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone and never must return!"

"The gadding vine."

"Alas! what boots it with incessant care To tend the homely slighted shepherd's trade, And strictly meditate the thankless Muse? Were it not better done as others use, To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, Or with the tangles of Neaera's hair? Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise (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' abhorrèd shears, And slits the thin-spun life."

"Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil."

"It was that fatal and perfidious bark, Built in th' eclipse, and rigged with curses dark, That sunk so low that sacred head of thine."

"Last came, and last did go, The Pilot of the Galilean lake; Two massy keys he bore of metals twain, (The golden opes, the iron shuts amain)."

"Blind mouths! That scarce themselves know how to hold A sheep-hook."

"The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, But, swoln with wind, and the rank mist they draw, Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread: Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing said; But that two-handed engine at the door Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more."

"Throw hither all your quaint enamell'd eyes That on the green turf suck the honied showers, And purple all the ground with vernal flowers. Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine, The white pink, and the pansy freakt with jet, The glowing violet, The musk-rose, and the well-attir'd woodbine, With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, And every flower that sad embroidery wears."

"Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides, Where thou perhaps under the whelming tide Visit'st the bottom of the monstrous world."

"Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth."

"For Lycidas your sorrow is not dead, Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor; 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. So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high, Through the dear might of him that walked the waves."

"He touch'd the tender stops of various quills, With eager thought warbling his Doric lay."

"At last he rose, and twitched his mantle blue: Tomorrow to fresh woods and pastures new."

"The end then of learning is to repair the ruins of our first parents."

"Litigious terms, fat contentions, and flowing fees."

"I shall detain you no longer in the demonstration of what we should not do, but straight conduct ye to a hillside, where I will point ye out the right path of a virtuous and noble education; laborious indeed at the first ascent, but else so smooth, so green, so full of goodly prospect and melodious sounds on every side that the harp of Orpheus was not more charming."

"Inflamed 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."

"Ornate rhetoric thought out of the rule of Plato... To which poetry would be made subsequent, or indeed rather precedent, as being less subtle and fine, but more simple, sensuous, and passionate."

"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."

"Attic tragedies of stateliest and most regal argument."

"And chiefly Thou O Spirit, that dost prefer Before all Temples th' upright heart and pure, Instruct me, for Thou know'st; Thou from the first Wast present, and with mighty wings outspread Dove-like satst brooding on the vast Abyss And mad'st it pregnant: What in me is dark Illumine, what is low raise and support; That to the highth of this great Argument I may assert th' Eternal Providence, And justifie the wayes of God to men."

"The mind is its own place, and in itself Can make a heav'n of hell, a hell of heav'n."

"To reign is worth ambition though in Hell: Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heaven."

"They looking back, all th' Eastern side beheld Of Paradise, so late thir happie seat, Wav'd over by that flaming Brand, the Gate With dreadful Faces throng'd and fierie Armes: Som natural tears they drop'd, but wip'd them soon; The World was all before them, where to choose Thir place of rest, and Providence thir guide: They hand in hand with wandring steps and slow, Through EDEN took thir solitarie way."

"Be frustrate, all ye stratagems of Hell, And devilish machinations come to nought."

"Behold the kings of the Earth how they oppress Thy chosen, to what highth thir pow'r unjust They have exalted, and behind them cast All fear of thee, arise and vindicate Thy Glory, free thy people from thir yoke"

"My rising is thy fall"

"But he, though blind of sight, Despised, and thought extinguished quite, With inward eyes illuminated, His fiery virtue roused From under ashes into sudden flame, [...] So Virtue, given for lost, Depressed and overthrown, as seemed, Like that self-begotten bird In the Arabian woods embost, That no second knows nor third, And lay erewhile a holocaust, From out her ashy womb now teemed, Revives, reflourishes, then vigorous most When most unactive deemed; And, though her body die, her fame survives, A secular bird, ages of lives."

"Gratitude bestows reverence, allowing us to encounter transcendent moments of awe that change forever how we experience life and the world."

"In the sure and flawless perfection of his rhythm and diction he is as admirable as Virgil or Dante, and in this respect he is unique amongst us. No one else in English literature and art possesses the like distinction. Thomson, Cowper, Wordsworth, all of them good poets who have studied Milton, followed Milton, adopted his form, fail in their diction and rhythm if we try them by that high standard of excellence maintained by Milton constantly. From style really high and pure Milton never departs; their departures from it are frequent."

"Milton, from one end of Paradise Lost to the other, is in his diction and rhythm constantly a great artist in the great style... That Milton, of all our English race, is by his diction and rhythm the one artist of the highest rank in the great style whom we have; this I take as requiring no discussion, this I take as certain."

"The reason Milton wrote in fetters when he Wrote of Angels & God, and at liberty when of Devils and Hell, is because he was a true Poet and of the Devil's party without knowing it."

"Now, more than thirty years ago, when I was very young indeed, in my beginning to think about public affairs, in reading the pure writings of John Milton, I found a passage which fixed itself in my mind. This passage time has never been able to take from my memory. He says, "Yet true eloquence I find to be none but the serious and hearty love of truth." And I have endeavoured, so far as I have had the opportunity of speaking in public, to abide by that wise and weighty saying."

"Paradise Regained—the work of a poet unsurpassed in any country or in any age, and a poem which I believe great authorities admit, if Paradise Lost did not exist, would be the finest in our language."

"No person seems better to have understood the secret of heightening, or of setting terrible things, if I may use the expression, in their strongest light by the force of a judicious obscurity, than Milton. His description of Death in the second book is admirably studied; it is astonishing with what a gloomy pomp, with what a significant and expressive uncertainty of strokes and colouring he has finished the portrait of the king of terrors... In this description all is dark, uncertain, confused, terrible, and sublime to the last degree."

"We do not any where meet a more sublime description than this justly celebrated one of Milton, wherein he gives the portrait of Satan with a dignity so suitable to the subject... Here is a very noble picture; and in what does this poetical picture consist? in images of a tower, an archangel, the sun rising through mists, or in an eclipse, the ruin of monarchs, and the revolutions of kingdoms. The mind is hurried out of itself, by a croud of great and confused images; which affect because they are crouded and confused. For separate them, and you lose much of the greatness, and join them, and you infallibly lose the clearness."

"A little heavy, but no less divine."

"Milton, on our account, is flawed, self-contradictory, self-serving, arrogant, passionate, ruthless, ambitious, and cunning. He is also among the most accomplished writers of the Caroline period, the most eloquent polemicist of the mid-century, and the author of the finest and most influential narrative poem in English. Janus-faced, he looks back to the world of Shakespeare, Spenser, and Jonson, and forward to Dryden and to Pope. He is driven by engaging enthusiasms—for the culture of Italy, for music, for in some way matching the life and work of Virgil. He knows his own worth, his singularity, his specialness. He is the most scholarly of poets, a master of classical culture and learning, a humanist in the great tradition of Hugo Grotius or John Selden, and he had a thorough appreciation of modern writers of continental Europe, and particularly of Italy. He studied law, mathematics, history, philology, and theology. He was also a thoughtful and innovative teacher."

"He argued that governments have no business meddling with the religious beliefs of their citizens; that how people worship and whether they worship should not be regulated by the legal machinery of the state. He also denied the right of his rulers to determine what could be printed and read. He claimed that marriage should be founded on mutual affection and intellectual compatibility and that, when those broke down, divorce should end the misery and permit both parties to attempt other relationships. He thought his rulers should be held to account for their actions and that the law was above them. He also contended the best kind of government was republican, an argument that has often prevailed, though not at present in his native land. Many of the civil rights on which modern democratic states are founded are adumbrated in his work. Revolutionaries in France appropriated Milton to their cause. Similarly, American statesmen such as Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, and John Adams drew on their wide reading of Milton both to shape their republicanism and to address specific issues such as British taxation in America (for which Franklin drew a parallel with the Chaos of Paradise Lost), the case for ecclesiastical disestablishment in Virginia (for which Franklin drew on the anti-prelatical tracts) and the wickedness of British rulers (whose arrogance Adams compared to Satan's). In intellectual terms, Milton is one of the founding fathers of America."

"Breakfasted with Macaulay. He thinks that, though the last eight books of Paradise Lost contain incomparable beauties, Milton's fame would have stood higher if only the first four had been preserved. He would then have been placed above Homer."

"Milton's dream academy may strike us as a version of hell: repressive, prescriptive, elitist, masculinist, militaristic, dustily pedantic, class-ridden, affectionless. It is hard to imagine it would be endured by anyone as instinctively oppositional as its designer. What remains of interest about the tract [Of Education], though, relates to the critique it offers of Milton's own educational experience and to the disclosure it offers of his particular cultural assumption and concerns."

"Milton's Paradise Lost is admirable; but am I therefore bound to maintain, that there are no flats amongst his elevations, when it is evident he creeps along sometimes for above a hundred lines together? Cannot I admire the height of his invention, and the strength of his expression, without defending his antiquated words, and the perpetual harshness of their sound? It is as much commendation as a man can bear, to own him excellent; all beyond it is idolatry."

"Three poets, in three distant ages born, Greece, Italy, and England did adorn. The first in loftiness of thought surpassed; The next, in majesty; in both the last. The force of Nature could no further go: To make a third, she joined the former two."

"No man has so happily copied the manner of Homer, or so copiously translated his Grecisms, and the Latin elegancies of Virgil. It is true he runs into a flat of thought, sometimes for a hundred lines together, but it is when he has got into a track of Scripture."

"Neither will I justify Milton for his blank verse... For whatever causes he alleges for the abolishing of rhyme (which I have not now the leisure to examine) his own particular reason is plainly this, that rhyme was not his talent; he had neither the ease of doing it, nor the graces of it."

"This man cuts us all out, and the ancients too."

"'Better to rule in Hell, than serve in Heaven.' Eh, little brother-killer?" "Suh-certainly, Lord Lucifer. Whatever you say, Lord Lucifer." "We didn't say it. Milton said it. And he was blind."

"But though in his noble and self-imposed task, the Defence of Liberty, Milton drew inspiration from the poets, orators and philosophers of Greece, nevertheless he stands proudly eminent as the great original genius who first proclaimed to our modern world the truth that freedom to express our thoughts in speech and writing is of all liberties most to be prized."

"To plead the cause of Freedom was, said Milton, his sole aim during the twenty years that followed the meeting of the Long Parliament. In one group of writings he upheld political freedom; in another the right to revise the moral and social code; in a third he called on the nation to establish religious toleration and to liberate the conscience from ecclesiastical supervision. Above all, in the Areopagitica, passing to the fundamental question which dominates all forms of liberty and is its final test, he pleaded with superb power and eloquence for the widest freedom of thought, for complete liberty, unhampered by censors or licensers, to reject, to choose and, if need be, to innovate and reform, because without that supreme freedom he felt there could be no health or progress in the moral and intellectual life of an individual or of a nation. “Give me the liberty,” he wrote, “to know, to utter and to argue freely according to conscience above all liberties.”"

"An acrimonious and surly republican."

"The want of human interest is always felt. Paradise Lost is one of the books which the reader admires and lays down, and forgets to take up again. None ever wished it longer than it is. Its perusal is a duty rather than a pleasure. We read Milton for instruction, retire harassed and overburdened, and look elsewhere for recreation; we desert our master, and seek for companions."

"If he exerted himself to overthrow a forsworn king and a persecuting hierarchy, he exerted himself in conjunction with others. But the glory of the battle which he fought for that species of freedom which is the most valuable, and which was then the least understood, the freedom of the human mind, is all his own. Thousands and tens of thousands among his contemporaries raised their voices against Ship-money and the Star-chamber. But there were few indeed who discerned the more fearful evils of moral and intellectual slavery, and the benefits which would result from the liberty of the press and the unfettered exercise of private judgment. These were the objects which Milton justly conceived to be the most important. He was desirous that the people should think for themselves as well as tax themselves, and should be emancipated from the dominion of prejudice as well as from that of Charles."

"I...sate on deck during the whole voyage. As I could not read, I used an excellent substitute for reading. I went through Paradise Lost in my head. I could still repeat half of it, and that the best half. I really never enjoyed it so much. In the dialogue at the end of the fourth book Satan and Gabriel became to me quite like two of Shakspeare's men. Old Sharp once told me that Henderson the actor used to say to him that there was no better acting scene in the English drama than this. I now felt the truth of the criticism."

"Sir George Hungerford, an Ancient Member of Parliament, told me, many Years ago, that Sir John Denham came into the House one Morning with a Sheet, Wet from the Press, in his Hand. What have you there, Sir John? Part of the Noblest Poem that ever was Wrote in Any Language, or in Any Age. This was Paradise Lost."

"My Lord the Earl of Dorset] took it [Paradise Lost] Home, Read it, and sent it to Dryden, who in a short time return'd it: This Man (says Dryden) Cuts us All Out, and the Ancients too."

"[A] puppy, once my pretty little man, now blear-eyed, or rather a blinding; having never had any mental vision, he has now lost his bodily sight; a silly coxcomb, fancying himself a beauty; an unclean beast, with nothing more human about him than his guttering eyelids; the fittest doom for him would be to hang him on the highest gallows, and set his head on the Tower of London."

"Americans needed at this time not so much intellectual arguments for basic positions as emotional symbols and detailed information addressed to specific issues in contest. Milton supplied both, but the strength of his imagery soon prevailed over the relevance of most of his principles. For Paradise Lost would soon become a main arsenal of propagandist devices, furnishing Americans with images and symbols which could rhetorically if not logically argue a cause."

"The translation from Horace might, indeed, be termed the “version of the forty triumphs,” because there are at least that many prosodical marvels. The unrhymed lines that lap over like waves of music; the delicate beauty of the half-revealed assonance that takes the place of rhyme; the inverted stresses that afford a faint but perceptible trace of antique choriambic rhythm; the admirable spondees of...the stanza itself, Horatian and yet seemingly native English; the apt diction of melancholy—these are some of the treasures of this little poem. It is hardly too much to say that if by chance the rest of Milton's work had been lost, this translation would suffice to prove that he had been a great artist. Nowhere else in such brief compass is the evidence concerning what our literature gained from a study of the classic ode so impressively assembled."

"John Milton was one whose natural parts might deservedly give him a place amongst the principal of our English Poets, having written two Heroick Poems and a Tragedy, namely Paradise Lost, Paradise Regained, and Sampson Agonista. But his Fame is gone out like a Candle in a Snuff, and his Memory will always stink, which might have ever lived in honorable Repute, had not he been a notorious Traytor, and most impiously and villanously bely'd that blessed Martyr, King Charles the First."

"Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour: England hath need of thee: she is a fen Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen, Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, Have forfeited their ancient English dower Of inward happiness. We are selfish men; Oh! raise us up, return to us again; And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart: Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea: Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, So didst thou travel on life's common way, In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart The lowliest duties on herself did lay."

"Milton, perhaps to relieve the uniformity of English structure, which tends to become too barely evident in blank verse, tries often to imitate the classical order; but the result is an effect often of artificiality, at best of solemnity. Homer's Μῆνιν ἄειδε, θεὰ, Πηληϊάδεω Ἀχιλῆος Οὐλομένην, and Virgil's 'Arma virumque cano, Trojæ qui primus ab oris,' &c., put the right words in the right place, without any loss of spirit. Milton's opening— Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste Brought death into the world, and all our woe, &c. is like an organ prelude: no English writer of a secular epic in blank verse could begin thus with success. It is impossible not to feel how tense must have been the struggle of that toil which Milton had to bestow on the stubborn material of his native language, before the gold of his words and verses won its full refinement. Diction so magnificent yet so severe cannot carry the reader along; so far from being the mere slave of the thought, like Homer's Greek, it is itself a marvel of study and meditation, which arrests and amazes him."

"Hide their diminished heads."

"Gratitude bestows reverence, allowing us to encounter everyday epiphanies, those transcendent moments of awe that change forever how we experience life and the world."

"Death introduc'd through fierce antipathie: Beast now with Beast gan war, & Fowle with Fowle, And Fish with Fish; to graze the Herb all leaving, Devourd each other"

"But come thou goddess fair and free, In heav'n yclep'd Euphrosyne, And by men, heart-easing Mirth, Whom lovely Venus at a birth With two sister Graces more To Ivy-crowned Bacchus bore; Or whether (as some sager sing) The frolic wind that breathes the spring, Zephyr, with Aurora playing, As he met her once a-Maying, There on beds of violets blue, And fresh-blown roses wash'd in dew, Fill'd her with thee, a daughter fair, So buxom, blithe, and debonair."