More quotes by John Milton
How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth,
Stol'n on his wing my three-and-twentieth year!
A poet soaring in the high reason of his fancies, with his garland and singing robes about him.
The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a heav'n of hell, a hell of heav'n.
Beholding the bright countenance of truth in the quiet and still air of delightful studies.
The end of learning is to know God, and out of that knowledge to love Him and imitate Him.
Attribution
Quote text and notes from Wikiquote: John Milton (page history), available under CC BY-SA 4.0. Source quality and labels are our own summary of what Wikiquote records.