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Love reckons hours for months, and days for years and every little absence is an age.
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
Littles
Goodbye
Little
Absence
Every
Distance
Years
Missing
Love
Months
Days
Reckons
Hours
Bye
Age
Farewell
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Confidence is the feeling we have before knowing all the facts
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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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But love's a malady without a cure.
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How easy 'tis, when Destiny proves kind, With full-spread sails to run before the wind!
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Pleasure never comes sincere to man but lent by heaven upon hard usury.
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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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Or hast thou known the world so long in vain?
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Ever a glutton, at another's cost, But in whose kitchen dwells perpetual frost.
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Much malice mingled with a little wit Perhaps may censure this mysterious writ.
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Desire of power, on earth a vicious weed, Yet, sprung from high, is of celestial seed: In God 'tisglory and when men aspire, 'Tis but a spark too much of heavenly fire.
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Beauty, like ice, our footing does betray Who can tread sure on the smooth, slippery way: Pleased with the surface, we glide swiftly on, And see the dangers that we cannot shun.
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Welcome, thou kind deceiver! Thou best of thieves who, with an easy key, Dost open life, and, unperceived by us, Even steal us from ourselves.
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Secret guilt is by silence revealed.
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For all the happiness mankind can gain Is not in pleasure, but in rest from pain.
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He is a perpetual fountain of good sense.
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Forgiveness to the injured does belong but they ne'er pardon who have done wrong.
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Sweet is pleasure after pain.
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Reason to rule, mercy to forgive: The first is law, the last prerogative. Life is an adventure in forgiveness.
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But how can finite grasp Infinity?
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Let Fortune empty her whole quiver on me, I have a soul that, like an ample shield, Can take in all, and verge enough for more Fate was not mine, nor am I Fate's: Souls know no conquerors.
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