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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
Playwright
Poet
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Aldwincle
Northamptonshire
Slaves
Slave
Either
Literature
Free
Wholly
More quotes by John Dryden
Secret guilt by silence is betrayed.
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Truth is the object of our understanding, as good is of our will and the understanding can no more be delighted with a lie than the will can choose an apparent evil.
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Revealed religion first informed thy sight, and reason saw not till faith sprung to light.
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But how can finite grasp Infinity?
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They that possess the prince possess the laws.
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I am devilishly afraid, that's certain but ... I'll sing, that I may seem valiant.
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A narrow mind begets obstinacy we do not easily believe what we cannot see.
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Love is a child that talks in broken language, yet then he speaks most plain.
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I strongly wish for what I faintly hope like the daydreams of melancholy men, I think and think in things impossible, yet love to wander in that golden maze.
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Never was patriot yet, but was a fool.
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Even kings but play and when their part is done, some other, worse or better, mounts the throne.
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Fowls, by winter forced, forsake the floods, and wing their hasty flight to happier lands.
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The end of satire is the amendment of vices by correction and he who writes honestly is no more an enemy to the offender than the physician to the patient when he prescribes harsh remedies.
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Deathless laurel is the victor's due.
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They first condemn that first advised the ill.
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Of all the tyrannies on human kind the worst is that which persecutes the mind.
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Arts and sciences in one and the same century have arrived at great perfection and no wonder, since every age has a kind of universal genius, which inclines those that live in it to some particular studies the work then, being pushed on by many hands, must go forward.
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Death ends our woes, and the kind grave shuts up the mournful scene.
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I never saw any good that came of telling truth.
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Not sharp revenge, nor hell itself can find, A fiercer torment than a guilty mind, Which day and night doth dreadfully accuse, Condemns the wretch, and still the charge renews.
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