Quotes from John Milton

The Tempter ere th' Accuser of man-kind, To wreck on innocent frail man his loss Of that first Battel, and his flight to Hell: Yet

And from these corporal nutriments perhaps   Your bodies may at last turn all to Spirit   Improv'd by tract of time, and wingd ascend   Ethereal, as wee, or may at choice   Here or in Heav'nly Paradises dwell;

And what doe they tell us vainly of new opinions, when this very opinion of theirs, that none must be heard but whom they like, is the worst and newest opinion of all others, and is the chief cause why sects and schisms doe so much abound and true knowledge is kept at distance from us ; besides yet a greater danger which is in it.

Numerous, and every Starr perhaps a World   Of destind habitation; but

Soft words to his fierce passion she assayed

The griding sword with discontinuous wound   Pass'd through him, but th' Ethereal substance clos'd   Not long divisible, and from the gash   A stream of Nectarous humor issuing flow'd   Sanguin, such as Celestial Spirits may bleed,   And all his Armour staind ere while so bright.

Out of such prison, though Spirits of purest light,   Purest at first, now gross by sinning grown.

Solitude sometimes is the best society.

So dear to heaven is saintly chastity, That when a soul is found sincerely so, A thousand liveried angels lackey her, Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt, And in clear dream, and solemn vision Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear, Till oft converse with heavenly habitants Begin to cast a beam on the outward shape, The unpolluted temple of the mind, And turns it by degrees to the soul's essence, Till all be made immortal

Arm'd with Hell flames and fury all at once

All is not lost; the unconquerable will, And study of revenge, immortal hate, And courage never to submit or yield: And what else is not to be overcome? That glory never shall his wrath or might Extort from me.

Or if they list to try Conjecture, he his fabric of the Heavens Hath left to their disputes, perhaps to move His laughter at their quaint opinions wide. John Milton, Paradise Lost viii 75-78