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The gods, (if gods to goodness are inclined If acts of mercy touch their heavenly mind), And, more than all the gods, your generous heart, Conscious of worth, requite its own desert!
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
Conscious
Heavenly
Worth
Generous
Heart
Desert
Mind
Acts
Gods
Mercy
Goodness
Requite
Touch
Inclined
More quotes by John Dryden
Imitation pleases, because it affords matter for inquiring into the truth or falsehood of imitation, by comparing its likeness or unlikeness with the original.
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Reason is a crutch for age, but youth is strong enough to walk alone.
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Fowls, by winter forced, forsake the floods, and wing their hasty flight to happier lands.
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A woman's counsel brought us first to woe, And made her man his paradise forego, Where at heart's ease he liv'd and might have been As free from sorrow as he was from sin.
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Dead men tell no tales.
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The brave man seeks not popular applause, Nor, overpower'd with arms, deserts his cause Unsham'd, though foil'd, he does the best he can, Force is of brutes, but honor is of man.
John Dryden
She feared no danger, for she knew no sin.
John Dryden
Love works a different way in different minds, the fool it enlightens and the wise it blinds.
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The people have a right supreme To make their kings, for Kings are made for them. All Empire is no more than Pow'r in Trust, Which when resum'd, can be no longer just. Successionm for the general good design'd, In its own wrong a Nation cannot bind.
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But love's a malady without a cure.
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Thus, while the mute creation downward bend Their sight, and to their earthly mother ten, Man looks aloft and with erected eyes Beholds his own hereditary skies.
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For what can power give more than food and drink, To live at ease, and not be bound to think?
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Ever a glutton, at another's cost, But in whose kitchen dwells perpetual frost.
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By viewing nature, nature's handmaid art, Makes mighty things from small beginnings grow: Thus fishes first to shipping did impart, Their tail the rudder, and their head the prow.
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Dreams are but interludes, which fancy makes When monarch reason sleeps, this mimic wakes.
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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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To so perverse a sex all grace is vain.
John Dryden
The thought of being nothing after death is a burden insupportable to a virtuous man.
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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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Kings fight for empires, madmen for applause.
John Dryden