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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
Injured
Belong
Forgiveness
Literature
Wrong
Doe
Done
Pardon

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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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None but the brave deserve the fair.
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Our souls sit close and silently within, And their own web from their own entrails spin And when eyes meet far off, our sense is such, That, spider-like, we feel the tenderest touch.
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Hushed as midnight silence.
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The blushing beauties of a modest maid.
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Maintain your post: That's all the fame you need For 'tis impossible you should proceed.
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Ever a glutton, at another's cost, But in whose kitchen dwells perpetual frost.
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Not to ask is not be denied.
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I feel my sinews slackened with the fright, and a cold sweat trills down all over my limbs, as if I were dissolving into water.
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Imitation pleases, because it affords matter for inquiring into the truth or falsehood of imitation, by comparing its likeness or unlikeness with the original.
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Sweet is pleasure after pain.
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The people have a right supreme To make their kings, for Kings are made for them. All Empire is no more than Pow'r in Trust, Which when resum'd, can be no longer just. Successionm for the general good design'd, In its own wrong a Nation cannot bind.
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A farce is that in poetry which grotesque (caricature) is in painting. The persons and actions of a farce are all unnatural, and the manners false, that is, inconsistent with the characters of mankind and grotesque painting is the just resemblance of this.
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Tis Fate that flings the dice, And as she flings Of kings makes peasants, And of peasants kings.
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At home the hateful names of parties cease, And factious souls are wearied into peace.
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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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Men are but children of a larger growth, Our appetites as apt to change as theirs, And full as craving too, and full as vain.
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All habits gather by unseen degrees.
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Repentance is but want of power to sin.
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Mankind is ever the same, and nothing lost out of nature, though everything is altered.
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