Quote

The soft complaining flute, In dying notes, discovers The woes of hopeless lovers.

John Dryden

Change background

T
T
T

Change font

TAGS & TOPICS

John Dryden
Age: 68 †
Born: 1631
Born: August 7
Died: 1700
Died: May 12
Hymnwriter
Literary Critic
Playwright
Poet
Translator
Aldwincle
Northamptonshire
Woe
Hopeless
Soft
Complaining
Notes
Woes
Lovers
Flute
Dying
Flutes
Discovers

More quotes by John Dryden

Image
Better one suffer than a nation grieve.
John Dryden
Image
For thee, sweet month the groves green liveries wear. If not the first, the fairest of the year For thee the Graces lead the dancing hours, And Nature's ready pencil paints the flowers. When thy short reign is past, the feverish sun The sultry tropic fears, and moves more slowly on.
John Dryden
Image
Restless at home, and ever prone to range.
John Dryden
Image
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.
John Dryden
Image
All habits gather by unseen degrees.
John Dryden
Image
Light sufferings give us leisure to complain.
John Dryden
Image
A man is to be cheated into passion, but to be reasoned into truth.
John Dryden
Image
Plots, true or false, are necessary things, To raise up commonwealths and ruin kings.
John Dryden
Image
A happy genius is the gift of nature.
John Dryden
Image
Dreams are but interludes, which fancy makes When monarch reason sleeps, this mimic wakes.
John Dryden
Image
Time and death shall depart and say in flying Love has found out a way to live, by dying.
John Dryden
Image
Bets at first were fool-traps, where the wise like spiders lay in ambush for the flies.
John Dryden
Image
The blushing beauties of a modest maid.
John Dryden
Image
Parting is worse than death it is death of love!
John Dryden
Image
Thou spring'st a leak already in thy crown, A flaw is in thy ill-bak'd vessel found 'Tis hollow, and returns a jarring sound, Yet thy moist clay is pliant to command, Unwrought, and easy to the potter's hand: Now take the mould now bend thy mind to feel The first sharp motions of the forming wheel.
John Dryden
Image
Hushed as midnight silence.
John Dryden
Image
But love's a malady without a cure.
John Dryden
Image
Better to hunt in fields, for health unbought, Than fee the doctor for a nauseous draught, The wise, for cure, on exercise depend God never made his work for man to mend.
John Dryden
Image
As one that neither seeks, nor shuns his foe.
John Dryden
Image
Kings fight for empires, madmen for applause.
John Dryden