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For your ignorance is the mother of your devotion to me.

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
Ignorance
Mother
Devotion

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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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The Fates but only spin the coarser clue The finest of the wool is left for you.
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The thought of being nothing after death is a burden insupportable to a virtuous man.
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A brave man scorns to quarrel once a day Like Hectors in at every petty fray.
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The scum that rises upmost, when the nation boils.
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He trudged along unknowing what he sought, And whistled as he went, for want of thought.
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Let grace and goodness be the principal loadstone of thy affections. For love which hath ends, will have an end whereas that which is founded on true virtue, will always continue.
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No government has ever been, or can ever be, wherein time-servers and blockheads will not be uppermost.
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An horrible stillness first invades our ear, And in that silence we the tempest fear.
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Who climbs the grammar-tree, distinctly knows Where noun, and verb, and participle grows.
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What I have left is from my native spring I've still a heart that swells, in scorn of fate, And lifts me to my banks.
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