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Order is the greatest grace.

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
Order
Grace
Greatest

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Much malice mingled with a little wit Perhaps may censure this mysterious writ.
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Beauty, like ice, our footing does betray Who can tread sure on the smooth, slippery way: Pleased with the surface, we glide swiftly on, And see the dangers that we cannot shun.
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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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Interest makes all seem reason that leads to it.
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Railing and praising were his usual themes and both showed his judgment in extremes. Either over violent or over civil, so everyone to him was either god or devil.
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Like pilgrims to th' appointed place we tend The World's an Inn, and Death the journey's end.
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Love is a child that talks in broken language, yet then he speaks most plain.
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Virtue in distress, and vice in triumph make atheists of mankind.
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My right eye itches, some good luck is near.
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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.
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Heroic poetry has ever been esteemed the greatest work of human nature.
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More liberty begets desire of more The hunger still increases with the store
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We must beat the iron while it is hot, but we may polish it at leisure.
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Rhyme is the rock on which thou art to wreck.
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Virgil, above all poets, had a stock which I may call almost inexhaustible, of figurative, elegant, and sounding words.
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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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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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Forgiveness to the injured does belong but they ne'er pardon who have done wrong.
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So the false spider, when her nets are spread, deep ambushed in her silent den does lie.
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Trust reposed in noble natures obliges them the more.
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