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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
Wings
Fate
News
Apace
Flies
Wing
Ill

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Dreams are but interludes that fancy makes... Sometimes forgotten things, long cast behind Rush forward in the brain, and come to mind.
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They first condemn that first advised the ill.
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More liberty begets desire of more The hunger still increases with the store
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Dead men tell no tales.
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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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Damn'd neuters, in their middle way of steering, Are neither fish, nor flesh, nor good red herring.
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Tis Fate that flings the dice, And as she flings Of kings makes peasants, And of peasants kings.
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But when to sin our biased nature leans, The careful Devil is still at hand with means And providently pimps for ill desires.
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Silence in times of suffering is the best.
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Wit will shine Through the harsh cadence of a rugged line.
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Not to ask is not be denied.
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But 'tis the talent of our English nation, Still to be plotting some new reformation.
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Bold knaves thrive without one grain of sense, But good men starve for want of impudence.
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We first make our habits, and then our habits make us.
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Government itself at length must fall To nature's state, where all have right to all.
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She feared no danger, for she knew no sin.
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Who climbs the grammar-tree, distinctly knows Where noun, and verb, and participle grows.
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Be fair, or foul, or rain, or shine, The joys I have possessed, in spite of fate, are mine. Not heaven itself upon the past has power But what has been, has been, and I have had my hour.
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Many things impossible to thought have been by need to full perfection brought.
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Learn to write well, or not to write at all.
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