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Quote by John Milton

“Was I deceiv'd, or did a sable cloud Turn forth her silver lining on the night?”

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John Milton, born on December 9, 1608, in London, and died on November 8, 1674, was a renowned English poet and scholar. He is best known for his epic poem 'Paradise Lost,' which has had a profound impact on world literature. more

“Thick February mists cling heavily To the dead earth and to each leafless tree, And closer down upon the hilltops draw, Dull forecasts there of bright, sure-coming spring; Yet the heart gathers hope and strange delight From this dear, unlovely, wished-for sight Of leaden-misted twilights lengthening.”

Heart Earth Tree Strange Spring Draws Sight Dear Delight Dull Thick Twilight Mist February Forecasts

Author:Emma Lazarus

“Sweet, sane, still Nakedness in Nature! — ah if poor, sick, prurient humanity in cities might really know you once more! Is not nakedness then indecent? No, not inherently. It is your thought, your sophistication, your fear, your respectability that is indecent. There come moods when these clothes of ours are not only too irksome to wear, but are themselves indecent. Perhaps indeed he or she to whom the free exhilarating ecstasy of nakedness in Nature has never been eligible (and how many thousands there are!) has not really known what purity is — nor what faith or art or health really is.”

Ifs Knows Art Stills Body Might Humanity Poor Cities Known Sweet Clothes Sick Mood Purity Ecstasy Sane Exhilarating Sophistication Respectability Nudists

Book:Specimen Days & Collect

Source: Specimen Days & Collect

“And as to you Death, and you bitter hug of mortality, it is idle to try to alarm me.... And as to you corpse, I think you are good manure, but that does not offend me, I smell the white roses sweet-scented and growing, I reach to the leafy lips — I reach to the polished breasts of melons. And as to you life, I reckon you are the leavings of many deaths, No doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before.”

Thinking Trying Doe Death White Doubt Growing Sweet Thousand Ten Died Rose Leaving Lips Smell Bitter No Doubt Breasts Good Man Mortality Hug Idle Corpses Alarms Polished Manure Melons White Rose

Author:Walt Whitman

Quote by John Milton

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