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The soft complaining flute, In dying notes, discovers The woes of hopeless lovers.
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
Dying
Flutes
Discovers
Woe
Hopeless
Soft
Complaining
Notes
Woes
Lovers
Flute
More quotes by John Dryden
Men's virtues I have commended as freely as I have taxed their crimes.
John Dryden
For your ignorance is the mother of your devotion to me.
John Dryden
Hushed as midnight silence.
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The longest tyranny that ever sway'd Was that wherein our ancestors betray'd Their free-born reason to the Stagirite [Aristotle], And made his torch their universal light. So truth, while only one suppli'd the state, Grew scarce, and dear, and yet sophisticate.
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The winds that never moderation knew, Afraid to blow too much, too faintly blew Or out of breath with joy, could not enlarge Their straighten'd lungs or conscious of their charge.
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Prodigious actions may as well be done, by weaver's issue, as the prince's son.
John Dryden
When bounteous autumn rears her head, he joys to pull the ripened pear.
John Dryden
When we view elevated ideas of Nature, the result of that view is admiration, which is always the cause of pleasure.
John Dryden
The winds are out of breath.
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He was exhaled his great Creator drew His spirit, as the sun the morning dew.
John Dryden
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.
John Dryden
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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Learn to write well, or not to write at all.
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A man is to be cheated into passion, but to be reasoned into truth.
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Mere poets are sottish as mere drunkards are, who live in a continual mist, without seeing or judging anything clearly. A man should be learned in several sciences, and should have a reasonable, philosophical and in some measure a mathematical head, to be a complete and excellent poet.
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I strongly wish for what I faintly hope like the daydreams of melancholy men, I think and think in things impossible, yet love to wander in that golden maze.
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Welcome, thou kind deceiver! Thou best of thieves who, with an easy key, Dost open life, and, unperceived by us, Even steal us from ourselves.
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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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For all the happiness mankind can gain Is not in pleasure, but in rest from pain.
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Here lies my wife: here let her lie! Now she's at rest, and so am I.
John Dryden