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We must beat the iron while it is hot, but we may polish it at leisure.

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
Must
Polish
Leisure
Iron
Hot
Beat
Beats
May

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Whatever is, is in its causes just.
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Secret guilt by silence is betrayed.
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I am as free as nature first made man, Ere the base laws of servitude began, When wild in woods the noble savage ran.
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He trudged along unknowing what he sought, And whistled as he went, for want of thought.
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Let grace and goodness be the principal loadstone of thy affections. For love which hath ends, will have an end whereas that which is founded on true virtue, will always continue.
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Drinking is the soldier's pleasure.
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Plots, true or false, are necessary things, To raise up commonwealths and ruin kings.
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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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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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A woman's counsel brought us first to woe, And made her man his paradise forego, Where at heart's ease he liv'd and might have been As free from sorrow as he was from sin.
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Fiction is of the essence of poetry as well as of painting there is a resemblance in one of human bodies, things, and actions which are not real, and in the other of a true story by fiction.
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And that one hunting, which the Devil design'd For one fair female, lost him half the kind.
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Possess your soul with patience.
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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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Government itself at length must fall To nature's state, where all have right to all.
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Damn'd neuters, in their middle way of steering, Are neither fish, nor flesh, nor good red herring.
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Either be wholly slaves or wholly free.
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Ever a glutton, at another's cost, But in whose kitchen dwells perpetual frost.
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Old age creeps on us ere we think it nigh.
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For your ignorance is the mother of your devotion to me.
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