O sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams That bring to my remembrance from what state I fell, how glorious once above thy sphere.
Interpretation
The speaker expresses disdain for the sun's rays that remind him of his past glory and current fall from grace.
In this quote, John Milton personifies the sun, describing his loathing for its light because it serves as a painful reminder of his previous high status and the profound loss he has experienced. The imagery reflects a deep sense of nostalgia and regret, as the sun's beams not only illuminate but also highlight the contrast between the speaker's former grandeur and his current plight, suggesting a struggle with identity and the impacts of downfall.
In practice
During a literary discussion, one might quote this to illustrate the theme of loss in Milton's works.
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.
Play is older than culture, for culture, however inadequately defined, always presupposes human society, and animals have not waited for man to teach them their playing.
Everyone wants a prodigy to fail; it makes our mediocrity more bearable.
If a person survives an ordinary span of sixty years or more, there is every chance that his or her life as a shapely story has ended and all that remains to be experienced is epilogue. Life is not over, but the story is.
It's not life or death, the labyrinth. Suffering. Doing wrong and having wrong things happen to you. That's the problem. Bolivar was talking about the pain, not about the living or dying. How do you get out of the labyrinth of suffering?
There is a spiritual hunger in the world today - and it cannot be satisfied by better cars on longer credit terms.
whose steps were a restless substitute for flight.
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