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Here lies my wife: here let her lie! Now she's at rest, and so am I.
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
Lies
Rest
Wife
Lying
Epitaph
Sex
More quotes by John Dryden
He is a perpetual fountain of good sense.
John Dryden
Let cheerfulness on happy fortune wait.
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He who would search for pearls must dive below.
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Tis Fate that flings the dice, And as she flings Of kings makes peasants, And of peasants kings.
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A happy genius is the gift of nature.
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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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My love's a noble madness.
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Mankind is ever the same, and nothing lost out of nature, though everything is altered.
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All habits gather by unseen degrees.
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How happy the lover, How easy his chain, How pleasing his pain, How sweet to discover He sighs not in vain.
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If you have lived, take thankfully the past. Make, as you can, the sweet remembrance last.
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Heroic poetry has ever been esteemed the greatest work of human nature.
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He who would pry behind the scenes oft sees a counterfeit.
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My right eye itches, some good luck is near.
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Love either finds equality or makes it.
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Silence in times of suffering is the best.
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Since every man who lives is born to die, And none can boast sincere felicity, With equal mind, what happens, let us bear, Nor joy nor grieve too much for things beyond our care. Like pilgrims to the' appointed place we tend The world's an inn, and death the journey's end.
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Love reckons hours for months, and days for years and every little absence is an age.
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The winds are out of breath.
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Damn'd neuters, in their middle way of steering, Are neither fish, nor flesh, nor good red herring.
John Dryden