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When I consider life, it is all a cheat. Yet fooled with hope, people favor this deceit.
John Dryden
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John Dryden
Age: 68 †
Born: 1631
Born: August 7
Died: 1700
Died: May 12
Hymnwriter
Literary Critic
Playwright
Poet
Translator
Aldwincle
Northamptonshire
People
Cheating
Deceit
Cheat
Favor
Favors
Consider
Hope
Life
Fooled
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The trumpet's loud clangor Excites us to arms.
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All habits gather by unseen degrees.
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Truth is the object of our understanding, as good is of our will and the understanding can no more be delighted with a lie than the will can choose an apparent evil.
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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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The fool of nature stood with stupid eyes And gaping mouth, that testified surprise.
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By viewing nature, nature's handmaid art, Makes mighty things from small beginnings grow: Thus fishes first to shipping did impart, Their tail the rudder, and their head the prow.
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Like pilgrims to th' appointed place we tend The World's an Inn, and Death the journey's end.
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A man is to be cheated into passion, but to be reasoned into truth.
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Love and Time with reverence use, Treat them like a parting friend: Nor the golden gifts refuse Which in youth sincere they send: For each year their price is more, And they less simple than before.
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Ever a glutton, at another's cost, But in whose kitchen dwells perpetual frost.
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I have a soul that like an ample shield Can take in all, and verge enough for more.
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Parting is worse than death it is death of love!
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She feared no danger, for she knew no sin.
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He with a graceful pride, While his rider every hand survey'd, Sprung loose, and flew into an escapade Not moving forward, yet with every bound Pressing, and seeming still to quit his ground.
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Even kings but play and when their part is done, some other, worse or better, mounts the throne.
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My heart's so full of joy, That I shall do some wild extravagance Of love in public and the foolish world, Which knows not tenderness, will think me mad.
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I am devilishly afraid, that's certain but ... I'll sing, that I may seem valiant.
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My right eye itches, some good luck is near.
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He trudged along unknowing what he sought, And whistled as he went, for want of thought.
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Men's virtues I have commended as freely as I have taxed their crimes.
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