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Death in itself is nothing but we fear to be we know not what, we know not where.

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
Nothing
Fear
Death

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…So when the last and dreadful hour This crumbling pageant shall devour, The trumpet shall be heard on high, The dead shall live, the living die, And Music shall untune the sky
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Mankind is ever the same, and nothing lost out of nature, though everything is altered.
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Rich the treasure, Sweet the pleasure,- Sweet is pleasure after pain.
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I maintain, against the enemies of the stage, that patterns of piety, decently represented, may second the precepts.
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Love is a child that talks in broken language, yet then he speaks most plain.
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Home is the sacred refuge of our life.
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The winds that never moderation knew, Afraid to blow too much, too faintly blew Or out of breath with joy, could not enlarge Their straighten'd lungs or conscious of their charge.
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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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Time and death shall depart and say in flying Love has found out a way to live, by dying.
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