Paradise Lost

by John Milton

Nine times the space that measures day and night

Love this prose.

Mixed with obdurate pride and steadfast hate.

Solium Infernum devs researched.

darkness visible

Another.

never to submit or yield:

Again

Have left us this our spirit and strength entire, Strongly to suffer and support our pains,

I LOVE this prose.

What reinforcement we may gain from hope, If not, what resolution from despair.”

Damn... (literally.)

Whom reason hath equalled, force hath made supreme Above his equals.

He's soooooooo arrogant.

The mind is its own place, and in itself 255 Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.

Jeez

To reign is worth ambition, though in Hell: Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.

His form had yet not lost All her original brightness, nor appeared Less than Archangel ruined, and th’ excess Of glory obscured:

He kept his form.

Signs of remorse and passion, to behold The fellows of his crime, the followers rather

He is charismatic to them.

attention held them mute.

This prose is everything.

Tears, such as Angels weep, burst forth: at last Words interwove with sighs found out their way:—

“Powers and Dominions, Deities of Heaven!—

Those are most of the angels that fell.

No! let us rather choose, Armed with Hell-flames and fury, all at once O’er Heaven’s high towers to force resistless way, Turning our tortures into horrid arms Against the Torturer; when, to meet the noise 65 Of his almighty engine, he shall hear Infernal thunder, and, for lightning, see Black fire and horror shot with equal rage Among his Angels, and his throne itself Mixed with Tartarean sulphur and strange fire, 70 His own invented torments.

DAMN that was a declaration! Moloch wanted vain glory.

to celebrate his throne With warbled hymns, and to his Godhead sing Forced hallelujahs, while he lordly sits Our envied sovereign, and his altar breathes 245 Ambrosial odours and ambrosial flowers, Our servile offerings? This must be our task In Heaven, this our delight. How wearisome Eternity so spent in worship paid To whom we hate! Let us not then pursue, 250 By force impossible, by leave obtained Unacceptable, though in Heaven, our state Of splendid vassalage; but rather seek Our own good from ourselves, and from our own Live to ourselves,

It's scary to think so many people would agree to this sentiment, if they didn't know the context.

Hell’s dread Emperor, with pomp supreme,

For Hot, Cold, Moist, and Dry, four champions fierce, Strive here for mastery,

Great definition of chaos.

I made him just and right, Sufficient to have stood, though free to fall.

As He makes us all.

Not free, what proof could they have given sincere Of true allegiance, constant faith or love,

Why we have free will.

So were created, nor can justly accuse Their Maker, or their making, or their fate, As if predestination over-rul’d 115 Their will dispos’d by absolute decree Or high foreknowledge they themselves decreed

We have no excuse.

So without least impulse or shadow of fate, Or aught by me immutably foreseen, They trespass, authors to themselves in all Both what they judge, and what they choose; for so I form’d them free: and free they must remain, 125 Till they enthrall themselves; I else must change

So should thy goodness and thy greatness both Be question’d and blasphem’d without defence.

Yeah... Why not destroy Satan?