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Thus, while the mute creation downward bend Their sight, and to their earthly mother ten, Man looks aloft and with erected eyes Beholds his own hereditary skies.
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
Men
Thus
Downward
Sky
Hereditary
Sight
Mute
Creation
Skies
Eyes
Bend
Eye
Earthly
Beholds
Mother
Motherhood
Aloft
Looks
Ten
Erected
More quotes by John Dryden
The thought of being nothing after death is a burden insupportable to a virtuous man.
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The fool of nature stood with stupid eyes And gaping mouth, that testified surprise.
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Happy, happy, happy pair! None but the brave deserves the fair.
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Rhyme is the rock on which thou art to wreck.
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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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Fowls, by winter forced, forsake the floods, and wing their hasty flight to happier lands.
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Discover the opinion of your enemies, which is commonly the truest for they will give you no quarter, and allow nothing to complaisance.
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When I consider life, 'tis all a cheat Yet, fooled with hope, men favour the deceit Trust on, and think tomorrow will repay. Tomorrow's falser than the former day.
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If we from wealth to poverty descend, Want gives to know the flatterer from the friend.
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What passion cannot music raise and quell!
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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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As when the dove returning bore the mark Of earth restored to the long labouring ark The relics of mankind, secure at rest, Oped every window to receive the guest, And the fair bearer of the message bless'd.
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All empire is no more than power in trust.
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How happy the lover, How easy his chain, How pleasing his pain, How sweet to discover He sighs not in vain.
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The poorest of the sex have still an itch To know their fortunes, equal to the rich. The dairy-maid inquires, if she shall take The trusty tailor, and the cook forsake.
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Bold knaves thrive without one grain of sense, But good men starve for want of impudence.
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The propriety of thoughts and words, which are the hidden beauties of a play, are but confusedly judged in the vehemence of action.
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We must beat the iron while it is hot, but we may polish it at leisure.
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The longest tyranny that ever sway'd Was that wherein our ancestors betray'd Their free-born reason to the Stagirite [Aristotle], And made his torch their universal light. So truth, while only one suppli'd the state, Grew scarce, and dear, and yet sophisticate.
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Secret guilt by silence is betrayed.
John Dryden