A good book is the precious life-blood of a master-spirit, embalmed and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life.

Areopagitica.

Seasoned life of man preserved and stored up in books.

Areopagitica.

I cannot praise a fugitive and cloistered virtue, unexercised and unbreathed, that never sallies out and sees her adversary, but slinks out of the race where that immortal garland is to be run for, not without dust and heat.

Areopagitica.

Who shall silence all the airs and madrigals that whisper softness in chambers?

Areopagitica.

Methinks I see in my mind a noble and puissant nation rousing herself like a strong man after sleep, and shaking her invincible locks; methinks I see her as [[255]]an eagle mewing her mighty youth, and kindling her undazzled eyes at the full midday beam.

Areopagitica.