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He trudged along unknowing what he sought, And whistled as he went, for want of thought.
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
Unknowing
Sought
Along
Went
Thought
Whistled
More quotes by John Dryden
Dreams are but interludes, which fancy makes When monarch reason sleeps, this mimic wakes.
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What passion cannot music raise and quell!
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The fortitude of a Christian consists in patience, not in enterprises which the poets call heroic, and which are commonly the effects of interest, pride and worldly honor.
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The blushing beauties of a modest maid.
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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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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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She feared no danger, for she knew no sin.
John Dryden
Ill news is wing'd with fate, and flies apace.
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Humility and resignation are our prime virtues.
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Kings fight for empires, madmen for applause.
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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.
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Who climbs the grammar-tree, distinctly knows Where noun, and verb, and participle grows.
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For secrets are edged tools, And must be kept from children and from fools.
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I am resolved to grow fat and look young till forty, and then slip out of the world with the first wrinkle and the reputation of five-and-twenty.
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For what can power give more than food and drink, To live at ease, and not be bound to think?
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If passion rules, how weak does reason prove!
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Welcome, thou kind deceiver! Thou best of thieves who, with an easy key, Dost open life, and, unperceived by us, Even steal us from ourselves.
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A happy genius is the gift of nature.
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For thee, sweet month the groves green liveries wear. If not the first, the fairest of the year For thee the Graces lead the dancing hours, And Nature's ready pencil paints the flowers. When thy short reign is past, the feverish sun The sultry tropic fears, and moves more slowly on.
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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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