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Forgiveness to the injured does belong but they ne'er pardon who have done wrong.
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
Forgiveness
Literature
Wrong
Doe
Done
Pardon
Injured
Belong
More quotes by John Dryden
Dead men tell no tales.
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Virtue without success is a fair picture shown by an ill light but lucky men are favorites of heaven all own the chief, when fortune owns the cause.
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Reason is a crutch for age, but youth is strong enough to walk alone.
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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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Either be wholly slaves or wholly free.
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Kings fight for empires, madmen for applause.
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Virtue in distress, and vice in triumph make atheists of mankind.
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Seas are the fields of combat for the winds but when they sweep along some flowery coast, their wings move mildly, and their rage is lost.
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He made all countries where he came his own.
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There is a pleasure in being mad, which none but madmen know.
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Fiction is of the essence of poetry as well as of painting there is a resemblance in one of human bodies, things, and actions which are not real, and in the other of a true story by fiction.
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For truth has such a face and such a mien, as to be loved needs only to be seen.
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Here lies my wife: here let her lie! Now she's at rest, and so am I.
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They, who would combat general authority with particular opinion, must first establish themselves a reputation of understanding better than other men.
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He was exhaled his great Creator drew His spirit, as the sun the morning dew.
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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 perverseness of my fate is such that he's not mine because he's mine too much.
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Old age creeps on us ere we think it nigh.
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I saw myself the lambent easy light Gild the brown horror, and dispel the night.
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The thought of being nothing after death is a burden insupportable to a virtuous man.
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