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He is a perpetual fountain of good sense.

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
Good
Fountain
Perpetual
Sense

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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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The trumpet's loud clangor Excites us to arms.
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The fool of nature stood with stupid eyes And gaping mouth, that testified surprise.
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Whatever is, is in its causes just.
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When a man's life is under debate, The judge can ne'er too long deliberate.
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Riches cannot rescue from the grave, which claims alike the monarch and the slave.
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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.
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Second thoughts, they say, are best.
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If all the world be worth thy winning. / Think, oh think it worth enjoying: / Lovely Thaïs sits beside thee, / Take the good the gods provide thee.
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But how can finite grasp Infinity?
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Democracy is essentially anti-authoritarian--that is, it not only demands the right but imposes the responsibility of thinking for ourselves.
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And that one hunting, which the Devil design'd For one fair female, lost him half the kind.
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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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Be fair, or foul, or rain, or shine, The joys I have possessed, in spite of fate, are mine. Not heaven itself upon the past has power But what has been, has been, and I have had my hour.
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I learn to pity woes so like my own.
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I have a soul that like an ample shield Can take in all, and verge enough for more.
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Restless at home, and ever prone to range.
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But love's a malady without a cure.
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