John Milton citáty

strana 5

„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.“

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

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

“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.”

“Where more is meant than meets the ear.”

“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).”

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

“Then to the spicy nut-brown ale.”

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

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

“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.”

“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.”

“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.”

“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.”

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

“Peor and Baälim
Forsake their temples dim.”

“Under the shady roof
Of branching elm star-proof.”

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

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

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

“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.”

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

“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.”

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

“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.”

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

“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.”

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

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

“New Presbyter is but Old Priest writ Large.”