Quote #105

Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil.

More from John Milton

  1. Alas! what boots it with incessant care To tend the homely slighted shepherd's trade, And strictly meditate the thankless Muse? Were it not…
  2. 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.
  3. The gadding vine.
  4. 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).
  5. But O the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone and never must return!
  6. Blind mouths! That scarce themselves know how to hold A sheep-hook.
  7. 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…
  8. 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: Beside…

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