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Politicians neither love nor hate.

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
Politicians
Neither
Politician
Hate
Love

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Good sense and good nature are never separated and good nature is the product of right reason.
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For all the happiness mankind can gain Is not in pleasure, but in rest from pain.
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My heart's so full of joy, That I shall do some wild extravagance Of love in public and the foolish world, Which knows not tenderness, will think me mad.
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For danger levels man and brute And all are fellows in their need.
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He who trusts a secret to his servant makes his own man his master.
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Heroic poetry has ever been esteemed the greatest work of human nature.
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With odorous oil thy head and hair are sleek And then thou kemb'st the tuzzes on thy cheek: Of these, my barbers take a costly care.
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The wretched have no friends.
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None but the brave deserve the fair.
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Old as I am, for ladies' love unfit, The power of beauty I remember yet.
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A happy genius is the gift of nature.
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They, who would combat general authority with particular opinion, must first establish themselves a reputation of understanding better than other men.
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At home the hateful names of parties cease, And factious souls are wearied into peace.
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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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And write whatever Time shall bring to pass With pens of adamant on plates of brass.
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How blessed is he, who leads a country life, Unvex'd with anxious cares, and void of strife! Who studying peace, and shunning civil rage, Enjoy'd his youth, and now enjoys his age: All who deserve his love, he makes his own And, to be lov'd himself, needs only to be known.
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Then we upon our globe's last verge shall go, And view the ocean leaning on the sky: From thence our rolling Neighbours we shall know, And on the Lunar world securely pry.
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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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When I consider life, it is all a cheat. Yet fooled with hope, people favor this deceit.
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Farewell, too little, and too lately known, Whom I began to think and call my own.
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