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The fortitude of a Christian consists in patience, not in enterprises which the poets call heroic, and which are commonly the effects of interest, pride and worldly honor.
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
Interest
Consists
Christian
Enterprise
Patience
Enterprises
Honor
Fortitude
Poet
Commonly
Pride
Worldly
Effects
Heroic
Call
Poets
More quotes by John Dryden
I learn to pity woes so like my own.
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The thought of being nothing after death is a burden insupportable to a virtuous man.
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Deathless laurel is the victor's due.
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The Jews, a headstrong, moody, murmuring race.
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Happy, happy, happy pair! None but the brave deserves the fair.
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Softly sweet, in Lydian measures, Soon he sooth'd his soul to pleasures. War, he sung, is toil and trouble Honour but an empty bubble Never ending, still beginning, Fighting still, and still destroying. If all the world be worth the winning, Think, oh think it worth enjoying: Lovely Thais sits beside thee, Take the good the gods provide thee.
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An ugly woman in a rich habit set out with jewels nothing can become.
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Fool, not to know that love endures no tie, And Jove but laughs at lovers' perjury.
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She feared no danger, for she knew no sin.
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Not to ask is not be denied.
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Our souls sit close and silently within, And their own web from their own entrails spin And when eyes meet far off, our sense is such, That, spider-like, we feel the tenderest touch.
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Murder may pass unpunishd for a time, But tardy justice will oertake the crime.
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I maintain, against the enemies of the stage, that patterns of piety, decently represented, may second the precepts.
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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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But how can finite grasp Infinity?
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At home the hateful names of parties cease, And factious souls are wearied into peace.
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Dreams are but interludes, which fancy makes When monarch reason sleeps, this mimic wakes.
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For secrets are edged tools, And must be kept from children and from fools.
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Mighty things from small beginnings grow.
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A lazy frost, a numbness of the mind.
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