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Of all the tyrannies on human kind the worst is that which persecutes the mind.
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
Libertarian
Tyranny
Liberty
Worst
Human
Persecutes
Humans
Tyrannies
Kind
Libertarianism
Mind
Propaganda
More quotes by John Dryden
Rhyme is the rock on which thou art to wreck.
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Tis Fate that flings the dice, And as she flings Of kings makes peasants, And of peasants kings.
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Joy rul'd the day, and Love the night.
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Trust reposed in noble natures obliges them the more.
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Dreams are but interludes that fancy makes... Sometimes forgotten things, long cast behind Rush forward in the brain, and come to mind.
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Interest makes all seem reason that leads to it.
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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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For age but tastes of pleasures youth devours.
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By viewing nature, nature's handmaid art, Makes mighty things from small beginnings grow: Thus fishes first to shipping did impart, Their tail the rudder, and their head the prow.
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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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Let cheerfulness on happy fortune wait.
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Whatever is, is in its causes just.
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Beware the fury of a patient man.
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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 when to sin our biased nature leans, The careful Devil is still at hand with means And providently pimps for ill desires.
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None but the brave deserve the fair.
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Jealousy's a proof of love, But 'tis a weak and unavailing medicine It puts out the disease and makes it show, But has no power to cure.
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An hour will come, with pleasure to relate Your sorrows past, as benefits of Fate.
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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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…So when the last and dreadful hour This crumbling pageant shall devour, The trumpet shall be heard on high, The dead shall live, the living die, And Music shall untune the sky
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