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Ill news is wing'd with fate, and flies apace.

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
Flies
Wing
Ill
Wings
Fate
News
Apace

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Our souls sit close and silently within, And their own web from their own entrails spin And when eyes meet far off, our sense is such, That, spider-like, we feel the tenderest touch.
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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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Or hast thou known the world so long in vain?
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Secret guilt by silence is betrayed.
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Politicians neither love nor hate.
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One cannot say he wanted wit, but rather that he was frugal of it.
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Pleasure never comes sincere to man but lent by heaven upon hard usury.
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War is a trade of kings.
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At home the hateful names of parties cease, And factious souls are wearied into peace.
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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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For what can power give more than food and drink, To live at ease, and not be bound to think?
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A brave man scorns to quarrel once a day Like Hectors in at every petty fray.
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Second thoughts, they say, are best.
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As when the dove returning bore the mark Of earth restored to the long labouring ark The relics of mankind, secure at rest, Oped every window to receive the guest, And the fair bearer of the message bless'd.
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Death ends our woes, and the kind grave shuts up the mournful scene.
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Lucky men are favorites of Heaven.
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Blown roses hold their sweetness to the last.
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Virtue without success is a fair picture shown by an ill light but lucky men are favorites of heaven all own the chief, when fortune owns the cause.
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A lazy frost, a numbness of the mind.
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I trade both with the living and the dead, for the enrichment of our native language.
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