John Milton Quotes

That is the gods' work, spinning threads of death through the lives of mortal men, an all to make a song for those to come.

We are the playthings of the gods.

Who knows if the gods above will add tomorrow's span to this day's sum?

Akhlys lunged at Percy, and for a split second he thought: Well, hey, I’m just smoke. She can’t touch me, right? He imagined the Fates up in Olympus, laughing at his wishful thinking: LOL, NOOB!

The Greater Man upstairs know when it's my time. Right now isn't the time.

This is where the gods play games with the lives of men, on a board which is at one and the same time a simple playing area and the whole world. And Fate always wins.

Thus have the gods spun the thread for wretched mortals: that they live in grief while they themselves are without cares; for two jars stand on the floor of Zeus of the gifts which he gives, one of evils and another of blessings.

For by the will of the gods Fate hath held sway since ancient days.

The gods retain their threefold task: they must exorcize the terrors of nature, they must reconcile men to the cruelty of Fate, particularly as it is shown in death, and they must compensate them for the sufferings and privations which a civilized life in common has imposed on them.

I think there is certainly luck and fate involved in any career of any kind. In show business, maybe it's even more true.

In the stars is written the death of every man.

There are times when we can feel destiny close around us like a fist around a doorknob. Sure, we can resist. But a knob that won't turn, a door that sticks and never budges, is a nuisance to the gods. The gods may kick in the jamb. Worse, they may walk away in disgust, leaving us to hang dumbly from our tight hinges, deprived of any other chance in life to swing open into unnecessary risk and thus into enchantment.

God always comes up with a third act twist -- and we won't know until we die whether the play was a comedy or a tragedy.

Who is it needs such flawless shafts as fate? What archer of his arrows is so choice, or hits the white so surely?

Madness ends sometimes. The Gods decree it, not man.

An old art spreading rumours about / Paradise, it begs outside the gates / Of the gods: the active gods come out.

No one can escape his destiny.

Fate has a strange way of making plans.

Gods play games with the fates of men. But first they have to get all the pieces on the board and look all over the place for the dice.

If you want the whole thing, the gods will give it to you. But you must be ready for it.

Without monsters and gods, art cannot enact a drama.

A man crawls into a tomb to die. A boy crawls in to live. You think that's chance?