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Love is love's reward.

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
Educational
Rewards
Philosophy
Literature
Love
Reward

More quotes by John Dryden

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A coward is the kindest animal 'Tis the most forgiving creature in a fight.
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Learn to write well, or not to write at all.
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When we view elevated ideas of Nature, the result of that view is admiration, which is always the cause of pleasure.
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I saw myself the lambent easy light Gild the brown horror, and dispel the night.
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Whistling to keep myself from being afraid.
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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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Rhyme is the rock on which thou art to wreck.
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Hushed as midnight silence.
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Let grace and goodness be the principal loadstone of thy affections. For love which hath ends, will have an end whereas that which is founded on true virtue, will always continue.
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When I consider life, it is all a cheat. Yet fooled with hope, people favor this deceit.
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Humility and resignation are our prime virtues.
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Want is a bitter and a hateful good, Because its virtues are not understood Yet many things, impossible to thought, Have been by need to full perfection brought. The daring of the soul proceeds from thence, Sharpness of wit, and active diligence Prudence at once, and fortitude it gives And, if in patience taken, mends our lives.
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So poetry, which is in Oxford made An art, in London only is a trade.
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One cannot say he wanted wit, but rather that he was frugal of it.
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Mere poets are sottish as mere drunkards are, who live in a continual mist, without seeing or judging anything clearly. A man should be learned in several sciences, and should have a reasonable, philosophical and in some measure a mathematical head, to be a complete and excellent poet.
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Beauty is nothing else but a just accord and mutual harmony of the members, animated by a healthful constitution.
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A narrow mind begets obstinacy we do not easily believe what we cannot see.
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The good we have enjoyed from Heaven's free will, and shall we murmur to endure the ill?
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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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A lazy frost, a numbness of the mind.
John Dryden