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.
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To sin by silence, when we should protest,
Makes cowards out of men.
Blessed is the man who, having nothing to say, abstains from giving us wordy evidence of the fact.
There are times when good words are to be left unsaid out of esteem for silence.
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.