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So over violent, or over civil that every man with him was God or Devil.

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
Devil
Every
Men
Extremes
Civil
Violent
God

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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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The winds are out of breath.
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None, none descends into himself, to find The secret imperfections of his mind: But every one is eagle-ey'd to see Another's faults, and his deformity.
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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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Whistling to keep myself from being afraid.
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Love is love's reward.
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Doeg, though without knowing how or why, Made still a blundering kind of melody Spurr'd boldly on, and dash'd through thick and thin, Through sense and nonsense, never out nor in Free from all meaning whether good or bad, And in one word, heroically mad.
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Bold knaves thrive without one grain of sense, But good men starve for want of impudence.
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Beware the fury of a patient man.
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Secret guilt is by silence revealed.
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They think too little who talk too much.
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Secret guilt by silence is betrayed.
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Bacchus ever fair and young, Drinking joys did first ordain. Bachus's blessings are a treasure, Drinking is the soldier's pleasure, Rich the treasure, Sweet the pleasure- Sweet is pleasure after pain.
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Let Fortune empty her whole quiver on me, I have a soul that, like an ample shield, Can take in all, and verge enough for more Fate was not mine, nor am I Fate's: Souls know no conquerors.
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The perverseness of my fate is such that he's not mine because he's mine too much.
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