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The brave man seeks not popular applause, Nor, overpower'd with arms, deserts his cause Unsham'd, though foil'd, he does the best he can, Force is of brutes, but honor is of man.

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
Force
Desert
Overpower
Doe
Popular
Foil
Best
Brave
Foils
Men
Honor
Deserts
Arms
Brutes
Cause
Applause
Causes
Seeks
Though
Bravery

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The longest tyranny that ever sway'd Was that wherein our ancestors betray'd Their free-born reason to the Stagirite [Aristotle], And made his torch their universal light. So truth, while only one suppli'd the state, Grew scarce, and dear, and yet sophisticate.
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Silence in times of suffering is the best.
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Trust on and think To-morrow will repay To-morrow's falser than the former day Lies worse and while it says, we shall be blest With some new Joys, cuts off what we possest.
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When bounteous autumn rears her head, he joys to pull the ripened pear.
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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 people have a right supreme To make their kings, for Kings are made for them. All Empire is no more than Pow'r in Trust, Which when resum'd, can be no longer just. Successionm for the general good design'd, In its own wrong a Nation cannot bind.
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I feel my sinews slackened with the fright, and a cold sweat trills down all over my limbs, as if I were dissolving into water.
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Love reckons hours for months, and days for years and every little absence is an age.
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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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Wit will shine Through the harsh cadence of a rugged line.
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Seas are the fields of combat for the winds but when they sweep along some flowery coast, their wings move mildly, and their rage is lost.
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Interest makes all seem reason that leads to it.
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For Art may err, but Nature cannot miss.
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Restless at home, and ever prone to range.
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The good we have enjoyed from Heaven's free will, and shall we murmur to endure the ill?
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Light sufferings give us leisure to complain.
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Griefs assured are felt before they come.
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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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Either be wholly slaves or wholly free.
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All habits gather by unseen degrees.
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