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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.
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
Everyone
Extremes
Civil
Violent
Railing
God
Praising
Praise
Themes
Devil
Showed
Judgment
Usual
Either
Theme
More quotes by John Dryden
Bets at first were fool-traps, where the wise like spiders lay in ambush for the flies.
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Shame on the body for breaking down while the spirit perseveres.
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Prodigious actions may as well be done, by weaver's issue, as the prince's son.
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She feared no danger, for she knew no sin.
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Mankind is ever the same, and nothing lost out of nature, though everything is altered.
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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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Youth should watch joys and shoot them as they fly.
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And after hearing what our Church can say, If still our reason runs another way, That private reason 'tis more just to curb, Than by disputes the public peace disturb For points obscure are of small use to learn, But common quiet is mankind's concern.
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Joy rul'd the day, and Love the night.
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As when the dove returning bore the mark Of earth restored to the long labouring ark The relics of mankind, secure at rest, Oped every window to receive the guest, And the fair bearer of the message bless'd.
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Love either finds equality or makes it.
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To so perverse a sex all grace is vain.
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Imitation pleases, because it affords matter for inquiring into the truth or falsehood of imitation, by comparing its likeness or unlikeness with the original.
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When bounteous autumn rears her head, he joys to pull the ripened pear.
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Thus, while the mute creation downward bend Their sight, and to their earthly mother ten, Man looks aloft and with erected eyes Beholds his own hereditary skies.
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Love reckons hours for months, and days for years and every little absence is an age.
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Our souls sit close and silently within, And their own web from their own entrails spin And when eyes meet far off, our sense is such, That, spider-like, we feel the tenderest touch.
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The wretched have no friends.
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Take not away the life you cannot give: For all things have an equal right to live.
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Death in itself is nothing but we fear to be we know not what, we know not where.
John Dryden