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Kings fight for empires, madmen for applause.

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
Madmen
Applause
Empires
Kings
Fight
Fighting

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For age but tastes of pleasures youth devours.
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Mighty things from small beginnings grow.
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When Misfortune is asleep, let no one wake her.
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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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And write whatever Time shall bring to pass With pens of adamant on plates of brass.
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Reason is a crutch for age, but youth is strong enough to walk alone.
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My right eye itches, some good luck is near.
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How blessed is he, who leads a country life, Unvex'd with anxious cares, and void of strife! Who studying peace, and shunning civil rage, Enjoy'd his youth, and now enjoys his age: All who deserve his love, he makes his own And, to be lov'd himself, needs only to be known.
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He trudged along unknowing what he sought, And whistled as he went, for want of thought.
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The perverseness of my fate is such that he's not mine because he's mine too much.
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None, none descends into himself, to find The secret imperfections of his mind: But every one is eagle-ey'd to see Another's faults, and his deformity.
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Heroic poetry has ever been esteemed the greatest work of human nature.
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Happy, happy, happy pair! None but the brave deserves the fair.
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I never saw any good that came of telling truth.
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Imagination in a poet is a faculty so wild and lawless that, like a high ranging spaniel, it must have clogs tied to it, lest it outrun the judgment. The great easiness of blank verse renders the poet too luxuriant. He is tempted to say many things which might better be omitted, or, at least shut up in fewer words.
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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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Better to hunt in fields, for health unbought, Than fee the doctor for a nauseous draught, The wise, for cure, on exercise depend God never made his work for man to mend.
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Better one suffer than a nation grieve.
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Fortune's unjust she ruins oft the brave, and him who should be victor, makes the slave.
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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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