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None but the brave deserve the fair.

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
Fair
Brave
None
Deserve
Bravery
Fairs

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Fortune's unjust she ruins oft the brave, and him who should be victor, makes the slave.
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He who trusts a secret to his servant makes his own man his master.
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A good conscience is a port which is landlocked on every side, where no winds can possibly invade. There a man may not only see his own image, but that of his Maker, clearly reflected from the undisturbed waters.
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The trumpet's loud clangor Excites us to arms.
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Good Heaven, whose darling attribute we find is boundless grace, and mercy to mankind, abhors the cruel.
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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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The blushing beauties of a modest maid.
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Blown roses hold their sweetness to the last.
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Wit will shine Through the harsh cadence of a rugged line.
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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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But how can finite grasp Infinity?
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If you are for a merry jaunt, I will try, for once, who can foot it farthest.
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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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Beware the fury of a patient man.
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Joy rul'd the day, and Love the night.
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When I consider life, it is all a cheat. Yet fooled with hope, people favor this deceit.
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Ev'n wit's a burthen, when it talks too long.
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Softly sweet, in Lydian measures, Soon he sooth'd his soul to pleasures. War, he sung, is toil and trouble Honour but an empty bubble Never ending, still beginning, Fighting still, and still destroying. If all the world be worth the winning, Think, oh think it worth enjoying: Lovely Thais sits beside thee, Take the good the gods provide thee.
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Not sharp revenge, nor hell itself can find, A fiercer torment than a guilty mind, Which day and night doth dreadfully accuse, Condemns the wretch, and still the charge renews.
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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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