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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.
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
Tomorrow
Repay
Trust
Morrow
Joy
Joys
Says
Cuts
Shall
Former
Lying
Worse
Think
Lies
Thinking
Cutting
Blest
More quotes by John Dryden
Secret guilt by silence is betrayed.
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None but the brave deserve the fair.
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Virtue in distress, and vice in triumph make atheists of mankind.
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From plots and treasons Heaven preserve my years, But save me most from my petitioners. Unsatiate as the barren womb or grave God cannot grant so much as they can crave.
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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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Love either finds equality or makes it.
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Youth, beauty, graceful action seldom fail: But common interest always will prevail And pity never ceases to be shown To him who makes the people's wrongs his own.
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New vows to plight, and plighted vows to break.
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Or hast thou known the world so long in vain?
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Reason is a crutch for age, but youth is strong enough to walk alone.
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How happy the lover, How easy his chain, How pleasing his pain, How sweet to discover He sighs not in vain.
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Never was patriot yet, but was a fool.
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A knock-down argument 'tis but a word and a blow.
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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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If one must be rejected, one succeed, make him my lord within whose faithful breast is fixed my image, and who loves me best.
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He who would search for pearls must dive below.
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You see through love, and that deludes your sight, As what is straight seems crooked through the water.
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With odorous oil thy head and hair are sleek And then thou kemb'st the tuzzes on thy cheek: Of these, my barbers take a costly care.
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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.
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