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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
Devotion
Ignorance
Mother
More quotes by John Dryden
They live too long who happiness outlive.
John Dryden
Beauty, like ice, our footing does betray Who can tread sure on the smooth, slippery way: Pleased with the surface, we glide swiftly on, And see the dangers that we cannot shun.
John Dryden
Of all the tyrannies on human kind the worst is that which persecutes the mind.
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Among our crimes oblivion may be set.
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For thee, sweet month the groves green liveries wear. If not the first, the fairest of the year For thee the Graces lead the dancing hours, And Nature's ready pencil paints the flowers. When thy short reign is past, the feverish sun The sultry tropic fears, and moves more slowly on.
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Bold knaves thrive without one grain of sense, But good men starve for want of impudence.
John Dryden
A lazy frost, a numbness of the mind.
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They think too little who talk too much.
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A farce is that in poetry which grotesque (caricature) is in painting. The persons and actions of a farce are all unnatural, and the manners false, that is, inconsistent with the characters of mankind and grotesque painting is the just resemblance of this.
John Dryden
Good sense and good nature are never separated and good nature is the product of right reason.
John Dryden
Fool that I was, upon my eagle's wings I bore this wren, till I was tired with soaring, and now he mounts above me.
John Dryden
Faith is to believe what you do not yet see: the reward for this faith is to see what you believe. Thus all below is strength, and all above is grace.
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Love is love's reward.
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Every age has a kind of universal genius, which inclines those that live in it to some particular studies.
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Love is a child that talks in broken language, yet then he speaks most plain.
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But how can finite grasp Infinity?
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Forgiveness to the injured does belong but they ne'er pardon who have done wrong.
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Heroic poetry has ever been esteemed the greatest work of human nature.
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A happy genius is the gift of nature.
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And write whatever Time shall bring to pass With pens of adamant on plates of brass.
John Dryden