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And that one hunting, which the Devil design'd For one fair female, lost him half the kind.
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
Lost
Women
Hunting
Kind
Fairs
Fair
Devil
Female
Design
Half
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Many things impossible to thought have been by need to full perfection brought.
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I am resolved to grow fat and look young till forty, and then slip out of the world with the first wrinkle and the reputation of five-and-twenty.
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Dreams are but interludes, which fancy makes When monarch reason sleeps, this mimic wakes.
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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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Arts and sciences in one and the same century have arrived at great perfection and no wonder, since every age has a kind of universal genius, which inclines those that live in it to some particular studies the work then, being pushed on by many hands, must go forward.
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What passion cannot music raise and quell!
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The winds are out of breath.
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Be fair, or foul, or rain, or shine, The joys I have possessed, in spite of fate, are mine. Not heaven itself upon the past has power But what has been, has been, and I have had my hour.
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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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Either be wholly slaves or wholly free.
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He wants worth who dares not praise a foe.
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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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He trudged along unknowing what he sought, And whistled as he went, for want of thought.
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Youth should watch joys and shoot them as they fly.
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They live too long who happiness outlive.
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If all the world be worth thy winning. / Think, oh think it worth enjoying: / Lovely Thaïs sits beside thee, / Take the good the gods provide thee.
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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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Mankind is ever the same, and nothing lost out of nature, though everything is altered.
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He invades authors like a monarch and what would be theft in other poets is only victory in him.
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The good we have enjoyed from Heaven's free will, and shall we murmur to endure the ill?
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