Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie. - John Milton

No man [...] can be so stupid to deny that all men naturally were born free, being the image and resemblance of God himself.

Alas! what boots it with incessant care
To tend the homely slighted shepherd's trade,
And strictly meditate the thankless Muse?
Were it not better done as others use,
To sport with Amaryllis in the shade,
Or with the tangles of Neaera's hair?
Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise
(That last infirmity of noble mind)
To scorn delights, and live laborious days;
But the fair guerdon when we hope to find,
And think to burst out into sudden blaze,
Comes the blind Fury with th' abhorrèd shears,
And slits the thin-spun life.

Translation: It is not miserable to be blind; it is miserable to be incapable of enduring blindness.