Here we may reign secure; and in my choice To reign is worth ambition, though in hell: Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven.
For neither man nor angel can discern hypocrisy, the only evil that walks invisible, except to God alone.
Better to reign in hell than serve in heav'n.
Awake, arise or be for ever fall’n.
All is not lost, the unconquerable will, and study of revenge, immortal hate, and the courage never to submit or yield.
A dungeon horrible, on all sides round, As one great furnace, flamed; yet from those flames No light, but rather darkness visible Serv'd only to discover sights of woe, Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace And rest can never dwell, hope never comes That comes to all; but torture without end.
Yet from those flames No light, but rather darkness visible.
Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit/Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste/Brought death into the world, and all our woe,/With loss of Eden, till one greater Man/Restore us, and regain the blissful seat,/Sing heavenly muse
Which way I fly is Hell; myself am Hell.
Pandemonium, the high capital Of Satan and his peers.
Should God create another Eve, and I Another Rib afford, yet loss of thee Would never from my heart; no no, I feel The Link of Nature draw me: Flesh of Flesh, Bone of my Bone thou art, and from thy State Mine never shall be parted, bliss or woe.
And out of good still to find means of evil.
Where peace And rest can never dwell, hope never comes, That comes to all.
Farewell happy fields, Where joy forever dwells: Hail, horrors, hail.
Sole reigning holds the tyranny of Heav'n.
United thoughts and counsels, equal hope And hazard in the glorious enterprise.
What in me is dark Illumine, what is low raise and support, That to the height of this great argument I may assert eternal Providence, And justify the ways of God to men. 1 Paradise Lost. Book i. Line 22.
Who overcomes by force, hath overcome but half his foe.
So glistered the dire Snake , and into fraud Led Eve, our credulous mother, to the Tree Of Prohibition, root of all our woe.
What reinforcement we may gain from hope; If not, what resolution from despair.
His spear, to equal which the tallest pine Hewn on Norwegian hills to be the mast Of some great ammiral were but a wand, He walk'd with to support uneasy steps Over the burning marle.
He scarce had ceased when the superior fiend Was moving toward the shore; his ponderous shield Ethereal temper, massy, large and round, Behind him cast; the broad circumference Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views At evening from the top of Fésolè, Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands, Rivers or mountains in her spotty globe.
Let none admire that riches grow in hell; that soil may best deserve the precious bane.
And, when night Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons Of Belial, flown with insolence and wine.
Earth felt the wound; and Nature from her seat, Sighing through all her works, gave signs of woe That all was lost.
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