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Like pilgrims to th' appointed place we tend The World's an Inn, and Death the journey's end.

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
Life
Inns
Like
Appointed
World
Pilgrim
Tend
Journey
Death
Place
Ends
Pilgrims

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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 narrow mind begets obstinacy we do not easily believe what we cannot see.
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Better one suffer than a nation grieve.
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But far more numerous was the herd of such, Who think too little, and who talk too much.
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Virgil, above all poets, had a stock which I may call almost inexhaustible, of figurative, elegant, and sounding words.
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So over violent, or over civil that every man with him was God or Devil.
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Death in itself is nothing but we fear to be we know not what, we know not where.
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Rhyme is the rock on which thou art to wreck.
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