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More liberty begets desire of more The hunger still increases with the store
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
Increase
Liberty
Desire
Stills
Begets
Still
Increases
Store
Stores
Hunger
More quotes by John Dryden
A good conscience is a port which is landlocked on every side, where no winds can possibly invade. There a man may not only see his own image, but that of his Maker, clearly reflected from the undisturbed waters.
John Dryden
Prodigious actions may as well be done, by weaver's issue, as the prince's son.
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He made all countries where he came his own.
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Love either finds equality or makes it.
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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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The Fates but only spin the coarser clue The finest of the wool is left for you.
John Dryden
Government itself at length must fall To nature's state, where all have right to all.
John Dryden
Love is love's reward.
John Dryden
Secret guilt by silence is betrayed.
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I trade both with the living and the dead, for the enrichment of our native language.
John Dryden
He invades authors like a monarch and what would be theft in other poets is only victory in him.
John Dryden
Of all the tyrannies on human kind the worst is that which persecutes the mind.
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I am devilishly afraid, that's certain but ... I'll sing, that I may seem valiant.
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My right eye itches, some good luck is near.
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Old age creeps on us ere we think it nigh.
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But when to sin our biased nature leans, The careful Devil is still at hand with means And providently pimps for ill desires.
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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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Every language is so full of its own proprieties that what is beautiful in one is often barbarous, nay, sometimes nonsense, in another.
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Beauty, like ice, our footing does betray Who can tread sure on the smooth, slippery way: Pleased with the surface, we glide swiftly on, And see the dangers that we cannot shun.
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The winds that never moderation knew, Afraid to blow too much, too faintly blew Or out of breath with joy, could not enlarge Their straighten'd lungs or conscious of their charge.
John Dryden