Good is not good enough.
Having created the world’s most comfortable recliner, Stressless continues to innovate and improve on how to sit. consider the beauty and style of the many designs of Stressless recliners. Consider also the patented Plus-system, which allows for knob-controlled friction sliders that allows the recliners to adjust naturally as the body shifts position.
Can it get any better? We will have to sit and wait.
The year 1652 was for Milton an annus horribilis. HIs wife died giving birth to a daughter. His son died soon thereafter. He himself was going blind due to glaucoma. In the midst of his tragedy he found time to write On Blindness, a sign that greatness lays ahead for those who act.
“God doth not need either man’s work or his own gifts;
Who best bear his mild yoke, they serve him best.
His state is kingly.
Thousands at his bidding speed
And post o’er land and ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and [watch].”
Better still, they serve who act while others wait.
I give, let others take…
Stay, I can’t be still when I know not
If I shall see, or live, another day.
John Milton did a lot of sitting and writing in his lifetime. He took in the London theater and the plays of William Shakespeare. Afterwards, perhaps he took a nap or two refresh the soul and set his mind at ease.
Recommended for Milton, The Stressless Metropolitan sofa, a traditional yet contemporary and forward Scandinavian look. The flared arms serve perfectly as a head rest for a napping soul. Speaking of sleep and souls, John Milton dedicated a poem to the bard, titled, On Shakespeare, 1630. It is worthy of repeating here.
What needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones,The labor of an age in pilèd stones,Or that his hallowed relics should be hidUnder a star-ypointing pyramid?Dear son of Memory, great heir of fame,What need’st thou such weak witness of thy name?Thou in our wonder and astonishmentHast built thyself a live-long monument.For whilst to th’ shame of slow-endeavouring art,Thy easy numbers flow, and that each heartHath from the leaves of thy unvalued bookThose Delphic lines with deep impression took,Then thou, our fancy of itself bereaving,Dost make us marble with too much conceiving;And so sepúlchred in such pomp dost lie,That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.