Quote

He with a graceful pride, While his rider every hand survey'd, Sprung loose, and flew into an escapade Not moving forward, yet with every bound Pressing, and seeming still to quit his ground.

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
Every
Horse
Seeming
Escapade
Forward
Flew
Rider
Pride
Loose
Survey
Hand
Quit
Sprung
Moving
Quitting
Graceful
Hands
Bound
Riders
Stills
Bounds
Pressing
Still
Ground
Surveys

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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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For age but tastes of pleasures youth devours.
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I maintain, against the enemies of the stage, that patterns of piety, decently represented, may second the precepts.
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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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Men's virtues I have commended as freely as I have taxed their crimes.
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The scum that rises upmost, when the nation boils.
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Since every man who lives is born to die, And none can boast sincere felicity, With equal mind, what happens, let us bear, Nor joy nor grieve too much for things beyond our care. Like pilgrims to the' appointed place we tend The world's an inn, and death the journey's end.
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The soft complaining flute, In dying notes, discovers The woes of hopeless lovers.
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For all have not the gift of martyrdom.
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Railing and praising were his usual themes and both showed his judgment in extremes. Either over violent or over civil, so everyone to him was either god or devil.
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As one that neither seeks, nor shuns his foe.
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Restless at home, and ever prone to range.
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For truth has such a face and such a mien, as to be loved needs only to be seen.
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Imagination in a poet is a faculty so wild and lawless that, like a high ranging spaniel, it must have clogs tied to it, lest it outrun the judgment. The great easiness of blank verse renders the poet too luxuriant. He is tempted to say many things which might better be omitted, or, at least shut up in fewer words.
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Fortune's unjust she ruins oft the brave, and him who should be victor, makes the slave.
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Kings fight for empires, madmen for applause.
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If by the people you understand the multitude, the hoi polloi, 'tis no matter what they think they are sometimes in the right, sometimes in the wrong their judgment is a mere lottery.
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Time glides with undiscover'd haste The future but a length behind the past.
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Honor is but an empty bubble.
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The thought of being nothing after death is a burden insupportable to a virtuous man.
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