John Dryden Quotes
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Her wit was more than man, her innocence a child.
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And heaven had wanted one immortal song.But wild Ambition loves to slide, not stand,And Fortune's ice prefers to Virtue's land.
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Music is inarticulate poesy.
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The sooner you treat your son as a man, the sooner he will be one.
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A knock-down argument; 'tis but a word and a blow.
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Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen,Fallen from his high estate,And welt'ring in his blood;Deserted, at his utmost need,By those his former bounty fed,On the bare earth exposed he lies,With not a friend to close his eyes.
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She, though in full-blown flower of glorious beauty,Grows cold even in the summer of her age.
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Never was patriot yet, but was a fool.
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Be fair, or foul, or rain, or shine, The joys I have possessed, in spite of fate, are mine. Not heaven itself upon the past has power;But what has been, has been, and I have had my hour.
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T' abhor the makers, and their laws approve,Is to hate traitors and the treason love.
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Time, place, and action may with pains be wrought, but genius must be born; and never can be taught.
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Chaucer followed Nature everywhere, but was never so bold to go beyond her.
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War seldom enters but where wealth allures.
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The intoxication of anger, like that of the grape, shows us to others, but hides us from ourselves.
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They say everything in the world is good for something.
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By education most have been misled; So they believe, because they were bred. The priest continues where the nurse began, And thus the child imposes on the man.
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A man is to be cheated into passion, but to be reasoned into truth.
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Since ev’ry man who lives is born to die,And none can boast sincere felicity,With equal mind, what happens, let us bear,Nor joy nor grieve too much for things beyond our care.Like pilgrims, to th' appointed place we tend;The world's an inn, and death the journey's end.
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Nor can his blessed soul look down from heaven,Or break the eternal sabbath of his rest.
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Not only hating David, but the king.
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As sure as a gun.
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Shame on the body for breaking down while the spirit perseveres.
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But Shakespeare's magic could not copied be;Within that circle none durst walk but he.
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My next desire is, void of care and strife,To lead a soft, secure, inglorious life:A country cottage near a crystal flood,A winding valley, and a lofty wood.