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Either be wholly slaves or wholly free.
John Dryden
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John Dryden
Age: 68 †
Born: 1631
Born: August 7
Died: 1700
Died: May 12
Hymnwriter
Literary Critic
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Aldwincle
Northamptonshire
Wholly
Slaves
Slave
Either
Literature
Free
More quotes by John Dryden
Desire of greatness is a godlike sin.
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For danger levels man and brute And all are fellows in their need.
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Imitators are but a servile kind of cattle.
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Jealousy's a proof of love, But 'tis a weak and unavailing medicine It puts out the disease and makes it show, But has no power to cure.
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When he spoke, what tender words he used! So softly, that like flakes of feathered snow, They melted as they fell.
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He is a perpetual fountain of good sense.
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The soft complaining flute, In dying notes, discovers The woes of hopeless lovers.
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But how can finite grasp Infinity?
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A brave man scorns to quarrel once a day Like Hectors in at every petty fray.
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Want is a bitter and a hateful good, Because its virtues are not understood Yet many things, impossible to thought, Have been by need to full perfection brought. The daring of the soul proceeds from thence, Sharpness of wit, and active diligence Prudence at once, and fortitude it gives And, if in patience taken, mends our lives.
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Whistling to keep myself from being afraid.
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A lazy frost, a numbness of the mind.
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They, who would combat general authority with particular opinion, must first establish themselves a reputation of understanding better than other men.
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The gods, (if gods to goodness are inclined If acts of mercy touch their heavenly mind), And, more than all the gods, your generous heart, Conscious of worth, requite its own desert!
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Take not away the life you cannot give: For all things have an equal right to live.
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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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Thou spring'st a leak already in thy crown, A flaw is in thy ill-bak'd vessel found 'Tis hollow, and returns a jarring sound, Yet thy moist clay is pliant to command, Unwrought, and easy to the potter's hand: Now take the mould now bend thy mind to feel The first sharp motions of the forming wheel.
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Zeal, the blind conductor of the will.
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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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All habits gather by unseen degrees.
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