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Dancing is the poetry of the foot.

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
Ballet
Dancer
Foot
Dancing
Dance
Poetry
Flamenco
Feet
Pointe
Ballerina

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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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Hushed as midnight silence.
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Words are but pictures of our thoughts.
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Since every 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 the' appointed place we tend The world's an inn, and death the journey's end.
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Railing in other men may be a crime, But ought to pass for mere instinct in him: Instinct he follows and no further knows, For to write verse with him is to transprose.
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I trade both with the living and the dead, for the enrichment of our native language.
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How blessed is he, who leads a country life, Unvex'd with anxious cares, and void of strife! Who studying peace, and shunning civil rage, Enjoy'd his youth, and now enjoys his age: All who deserve his love, he makes his own And, to be lov'd himself, needs only to be known.
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Heroic poetry has ever been esteemed the greatest work of human nature.
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For what can power give more than food and drink, To live at ease, and not be bound to think?
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Not sharp revenge, nor hell itself can find, A fiercer torment than a guilty mind, Which day and night doth dreadfully accuse, Condemns the wretch, and still the charge renews.
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