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I trade both with the living and the dead, for the enrichment of our native language.

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
Living
Life
Enrichment
Native
Trade
Dead
Language

More quotes by John Dryden

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The blushing beauties of a modest maid.
John Dryden
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Virgil, above all poets, had a stock which I may call almost inexhaustible, of figurative, elegant, and sounding words.
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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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Virtue in distress, and vice in triumph make atheists of mankind.
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Joy rul'd the day, and Love the night.
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Softly sweet, in Lydian measures, Soon he sooth'd his soul to pleasures. War, he sung, is toil and trouble Honour but an empty bubble Never ending, still beginning, Fighting still, and still destroying. If all the world be worth the winning, Think, oh think it worth enjoying: Lovely Thais sits beside thee, Take the good the gods provide thee.
John Dryden
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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.
John Dryden
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Arts and sciences in one and the same century have arrived at great perfection and no wonder, since every age has a kind of universal genius, which inclines those that live in it to some particular studies the work then, being pushed on by many hands, must go forward.
John Dryden
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With odorous oil thy head and hair are sleek And then thou kemb'st the tuzzes on thy cheek: Of these, my barbers take a costly care.
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My right eye itches, some good luck is near.
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He who trusts a secret to his servant makes his own man his master.
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Government itself at length must fall To nature's state, where all have right to all.
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Bold knaves thrive without one grain of sense, But good men starve for want of impudence.
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Forgiveness to the injured does belong but they ne'er pardon who have done wrong.
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But love's a malady without a cure.
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As one that neither seeks, nor shuns his foe.
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If one must be rejected, one succeed, make him my lord within whose faithful breast is fixed my image, and who loves me best.
John Dryden
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A man is to be cheated into passion, but to be reasoned into truth.
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Interest makes all seem reason that leads to it.
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The soft complaining flute, In dying notes, discovers The woes of hopeless lovers.
John Dryden