Quote

Fiction is of the essence of poetry as well as of painting there is a resemblance in one of human bodies, things, and actions which are not real, and in the other of a true story by fiction.

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
Body
Essence
Wells
Poetry
Human
Painting
Humans
Fiction
Well
Story
Real
Action
Resemblance
Things
True
Bodies
Stories
Actions

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An hour will come, with pleasure to relate Your sorrows past, as benefits of Fate.
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Hushed as midnight silence.
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Desire of greatness is a godlike sin.
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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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They live too long who happiness outlive.
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Discover the opinion of your enemies, which is commonly the truest for they will give you no quarter, and allow nothing to complaisance.
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None, none descends into himself, to find The secret imperfections of his mind: But every one is eagle-ey'd to see Another's faults, and his deformity.
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The end of satire is the amendment of vices by correction and he who writes honestly is no more an enemy to the offender than the physician to the patient when he prescribes harsh remedies.
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Even kings but play and when their part is done, some other, worse or better, mounts the throne.
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Home is the sacred refuge of our life.
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A happy genius is the gift of nature.
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One cannot say he wanted wit, but rather that he was frugal of it.
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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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The winds are out of breath.
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Farewell, too little, and too lately known, Whom I began to think and call my own.
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A coward is the kindest animal 'Tis the most forgiving creature in a fight.
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Imitators are but a servile kind of cattle.
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Men's virtues I have commended as freely as I have taxed their crimes.
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A knock-down argument 'tis but a word and a blow.
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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!
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