John Milton citáty

strana 4

„Samota je někdy nejlepší společnost.“

„Co má noc společného se spánkem?“

„Kdo zabíjí člověka, zabíjí rozumnou bytost. Kdo však zabíjí dobrou knihu, zabíjí rozum sám.“

„Duch člověka, který Bůh vdechl, nemůže zahynout s tělesnou schránkou.“

„Co tě nezabije, to tě posílí“

„Hluboko sběhlý v knihách, v něm samém mělčina.“

„Kdo knihu zabíjí, zabíjí myšlení samotné.“

„Kdo knihu zabíjí, zabíjí myšlení samotné.“

„Mysl je místo samo o sobě, které samo sobě může udělat nebe z pekla a peklo z nebe.“

„Dlouhá a těžká je cesta z pekla ven, po níž míříš ke světlu.´´“

„Je mnohem snadnější vládnout zemi než ženě.“

„Ženaje nejdokonalejší, když je neženštější.“

„Špatné knížky mohou rozumnému a moudrému čtenáři sloužit k tomu, aby něco objevil, vyvrátil nebo osvětlil.“

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

“Of which all Europe rings from side to side.”

“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.”

“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.”

“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.”

“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.”

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

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

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

“Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth.”

“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.”

“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.”

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

“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?”

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

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

“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.”

“Time will run back and fetch the Age of Gold.”

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

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

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

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

“[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.”

“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.”

“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.”

“Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail.”

“Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son”

“Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil.”

“Such as may make thee search the coffers round.”