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He who trusts a secret to his servant makes his own man his master.

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
Secret
Makes
Men
Trusts
Secrecy
Servant
Master
Masters

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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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What I have left is from my native spring I've still a heart that swells, in scorn of fate, And lifts me to my banks.
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Then we upon our globe's last verge shall go, And view the ocean leaning on the sky: From thence our rolling Neighbours we shall know, And on the Lunar world securely pry.
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The blushing beauties of a modest maid.
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Rich the treasure, Sweet the pleasure,- Sweet is pleasure after pain.
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If passion rules, how weak does reason prove!
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Let grace and goodness be the principal loadstone of thy affections. For love which hath ends, will have an end whereas that which is founded on true virtue, will always continue.
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Fool that I was, upon my eagle's wings I bore this wren, till I was tired with soaring, and now he mounts above me.
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Beware the fury of a patient man.
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Virtue in distress, and vice in triumph make atheists of mankind.
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If you are for a merry jaunt, I will try, for once, who can foot it farthest.
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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.
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…So when the last and dreadful hour This crumbling pageant shall devour, The trumpet shall be heard on high, The dead shall live, the living die, And Music shall untune the sky
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Discover the opinion of your enemies, which is commonly the truest for they will give you no quarter, and allow nothing to complaisance.
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I learn to pity woes so like my own.
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Bold knaves thrive without one grain of sense, But good men starve for want of impudence.
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Dancing is the poetry of the foot.
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Honor is but an empty bubble.
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Bankrupt of life, yet prodigal of ease.
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Much malice mingled with a little wit Perhaps may censure this mysterious writ.
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