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At home the hateful names of parties cease, And factious souls are wearied into peace.
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
Soul
Hateful
Parties
Cease
Souls
Names
Party
Peace
Home
Wearied
More quotes by John Dryden
For age but tastes of pleasures youth devours.
John Dryden
Since every man who lives is born to die, And none can boast sincere felicity, With equal mind, what happens, let us bear, Nor joy nor grieve too much for things beyond our care. Like pilgrims to the' appointed place we tend The world's an inn, and death the journey's end.
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Nature meant me A wife, a silly, harmless, household dove, Fond without art, and kind without deceit.
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Bacchus ever fair and young, Drinking joys did first ordain. Bachus's blessings are a treasure, Drinking is the soldier's pleasure, Rich the treasure, Sweet the pleasure- Sweet is pleasure after pain.
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They that possess the prince possess the laws.
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None are so busy as the fool and the knave.
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Rhyme is the rock on which thou art to wreck.
John Dryden
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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For secrets are edged tools, And must be kept from children and from fools.
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Love is love's reward.
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My love's a noble madness.
John Dryden
Tis Fate that flings the dice, And as she flings Of kings makes peasants, And of peasants kings.
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Shame on the body for breaking down while the spirit perseveres.
John Dryden
An ugly woman in a rich habit set out with jewels nothing can become.
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Of all the tyrannies on human kind the worst is that which persecutes the mind.
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When a man's life is under debate, The judge can ne'er too long deliberate.
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My heart's so full of joy, That I shall do some wild extravagance Of love in public and the foolish world, Which knows not tenderness, will think me mad.
John Dryden
We must beat the iron while it is hot, but we may polish it at leisure.
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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.
John Dryden
He with a graceful pride, While his rider every hand survey'd, Sprung loose, and flew into an escapade Not moving forward, yet with every bound Pressing, and seeming still to quit his ground.
John Dryden
