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

More quotes by John Dryden

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Love either finds equality or makes it.
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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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He who would pry behind the scenes oft sees a counterfeit.
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And write whatever Time shall bring to pass With pens of adamant on plates of brass.
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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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He who would search for pearls must dive below.
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Farewell, too little, and too lately known, Whom I began to think and call my own.
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Then we upon our globe's last verge shall go, And view the ocean leaning on the sky: From thence our rolling Neighbours we shall know, And on the Lunar world securely pry.
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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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When he spoke, what tender words he used! So softly, that like flakes of feathered snow, They melted as they fell.
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I never saw any good that came of telling truth.
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An horrible stillness first invades our ear, And in that silence we the tempest fear.
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More liberty begets desire of more The hunger still increases with the store
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Railing and praising were his usual themes and both showed his judgment in extremes. Either over violent or over civil, so everyone to him was either god or devil.
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Imitators are but a servile kind of cattle.
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Zeal, the blind conductor of the will.
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A woman's counsel brought us first to woe, And made her man his paradise forego, Where at heart's ease he liv'd and might have been As free from sorrow as he was from sin.
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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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You see through love, and that deludes your sight, As what is straight seems crooked through the water.
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I maintain, against the enemies of the stage, that patterns of piety, decently represented, may second the precepts.
John Dryden