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My right eye itches, some good luck is near.
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
Right
Good
Itches
Near
Luck
Eye
More quotes by John Dryden
As when the dove returning bore the mark Of earth restored to the long labouring ark The relics of mankind, secure at rest, Oped every window to receive the guest, And the fair bearer of the message bless'd.
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Never was patriot yet, but was a fool.
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We find few historians who have been diligent enough in their search for truth it is their common method to take on trust what they help distribute to the public by which means a falsehood once received from a famed writer becomes traditional to posterity.
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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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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.
John Dryden
Government itself at length must fall To nature's state, where all have right to all.
John Dryden
I saw myself the lambent easy light Gild the brown horror, and dispel the night.
John Dryden
An ugly woman in a rich habit set out with jewels nothing can become.
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What I have left is from my native spring I've still a heart that swells, in scorn of fate, And lifts me to my banks.
John Dryden
Among our crimes oblivion may be set.
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Zeal, the blind conductor of the will.
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He was exhaled his great Creator drew His spirit, as the sun the morning dew.
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[T]he Famous Rules which the French call, Des Trois Unitez , or, The Three Unities, which ought to be observ'd in every Regular Play namely, of Time, Place, and Action.
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The winds are out of breath.
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As one that neither seeks, nor shuns his foe.
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Youth should watch joys and shoot them as they fly.
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He is a perpetual fountain of good sense.
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Rhyme is the rock on which thou art to wreck.
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None are so busy as the fool and the knave.
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An horrible stillness first invades our ear, And in that silence we the tempest fear.
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