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I never saw any good that came of telling truth.

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
Truth
Good
Never
Telling
Saws
Came

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Love and Time with reverence use, Treat them like a parting friend: Nor the golden gifts refuse Which in youth sincere they send: For each year their price is more, And they less simple than before.
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When he spoke, what tender words he used! So softly, that like flakes of feathered snow, They melted as they fell.
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War is a trade of kings.
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Murder may pass unpunishd for a time, But tardy justice will oertake the crime.
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Who climbs the grammar-tree, distinctly knows Where noun, and verb, and participle grows.
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Lucky men are favorites of Heaven.
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Confidence is the feeling we have before knowing all the facts
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Courage from hearts and not from numbers grows.
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Mere poets are sottish as mere drunkards are, who live in a continual mist, without seeing or judging anything clearly. A man should be learned in several sciences, and should have a reasonable, philosophical and in some measure a mathematical head, to be a complete and excellent poet.
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The people have a right supreme To make their kings, for Kings are made for them. All Empire is no more than Pow'r in Trust, Which when resum'd, can be no longer just. Successionm for the general good design'd, In its own wrong a Nation cannot bind.
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Railing in other men may be a crime, But ought to pass for mere instinct in him: Instinct he follows and no further knows, For to write verse with him is to transprose.
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You see through love, and that deludes your sight, As what is straight seems crooked through the water.
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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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If we from wealth to poverty descend, Want gives to know the flatterer from the friend.
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A farce is that in poetry which grotesque (caricature) is in painting. The persons and actions of a farce are all unnatural, and the manners false, that is, inconsistent with the characters of mankind and grotesque painting is the just resemblance of this.
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Love is a child that talks in broken language, yet then he speaks most plain.
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Death ends our woes, and the kind grave shuts up the mournful scene.
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Kings fight for empires, madmen for applause.
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Jealousy's a proof of love, But 'tis a weak and unavailing medicine It puts out the disease and makes it show, But has no power to cure.
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Boldness is a mask for fear, however great.
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