Let none admire that riches grow in hell; that soil may best deserve the precious bane.
Interpretation
Wealth can arise from undesirable circumstances, but it may not be truly valuable.
In this quote, John Milton suggests that riches can emerge even from the most unwholesome environments, implying that wealth derived from corruption or suffering lacks true worth. The phrase 'precious bane' encapsulates the idea that while such riches may be valued by some, they ultimately bring harm and do not foster genuine prosperity or happiness.
In practice
In a discussion about the ethics of wealth accumulation, one might reference this quote to highlight the moral implications of gaining riches from unethical means.
They, looking back, all the eastern side beheld Of Paradise, so late their happy seat, Waved over by that flaming brand, the gate With dreadful faces thronged and fiery arms: Some natural tears they dropped, but wiped them soon; The world was all before them, where to choose Their place of rest, and Providence their guide; They, hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow, Through Eden took their solitary way.
The stars, that nature hung in heaven, and filled their lamps with everlasting oil, give due light to the misled and lonely traveller.
Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old, When all our fathers worshipp'd stocks and stones.
Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely: and pined his loss
The end of all learning is to know God, and out of that knowledge to love and imitate Him.
Apt words have power to suage the tumors of a troubled mind.
True devotion is for itself: not to desire heaven nor to fear hell.
The first attempt at a response: there must have been a fall, a decline, and the road to salvation can only be the return of the sensible finite into the intelligible infinite.
Ordinary readers, forgive my paradoxes: one must make them when one reflects; and whatever you may say, I prefer being a man with paradoxes than a man with prejudices.
There were days when she was unhappy, she did not know why,--when it did not seem worthwhile to be glad or sorry, to be alive or dead; when life appeared to her like a grotesque pandemonium and humanity like worms struggling blindly toward inevitable annihilation.
It is impossible for a man to be freed from the habit of sin before he hates it, just as it is impossible to receive forgiveness before confessing his trespasses.
In the morning, when the nothing vase casts a something shadow, like the memory of someone you've lost, what can you say about that?
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