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Nature meant me A wife, a silly, harmless, household dove, Fond without art, and kind without deceit.
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
Wife
Art
Harmless
Nature
Dove
Without
Fond
Kind
Deceit
Household
Silly
Meant
More quotes by John Dryden
There is a pleasure in being mad, which none but madmen know.
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Interest makes all seem reason that leads to it.
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A lazy frost, a numbness of the mind.
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Joy rul'd the day, and Love the night.
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None are so busy as the fool and the knave.
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What passion cannot music raise and quell!
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Second thoughts, they say, are best.
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Either be wholly slaves or wholly free.
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Love and Time with reverence use, Treat them like a parting friend: Nor the golden gifts refuse Which in youth sincere they send: For each year their price is more, And they less simple than before.
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If the faults of men in orders are only to be judged among themselves, they are all in some sort parties for, since they say the honour of their order is concerned in every member of it, how can we be sure that they will be impartial judges?
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Every language is so full of its own proprieties that what is beautiful in one is often barbarous, nay, sometimes nonsense, in another.
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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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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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Good sense and good nature are never separated and good nature is the product of right reason.
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Let cheerfulness on happy fortune wait.
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Even kings but play and when their part is done, some other, worse or better, mounts the throne.
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With how much ease believe we what we wish!
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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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An horrible stillness first invades our ear, And in that silence we the tempest fear.
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Maintain your post: That's all the fame you need For 'tis impossible you should proceed.
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