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A happy genius is the gift of nature.

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
Gift
Genius
Happy
Nature

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Not sharp revenge, nor hell itself can find, A fiercer torment than a guilty mind, Which day and night doth dreadfully accuse, Condemns the wretch, and still the charge renews.
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Since every man who lives is born to die, And none can boast sincere felicity, With equal mind, what happens, let us bear, Nor joy nor grieve too much for things beyond our care. Like pilgrims to the' appointed place we tend The world's an inn, and death the journey's end.
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There is a pleasure in being mad, which none but madmen know.
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Ill news is wing'd with fate, and flies apace.
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The perverseness of my fate is such that he's not mine because he's mine too much.
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Seas are the fields of combat for the winds but when they sweep along some flowery coast, their wings move mildly, and their rage is lost.
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Whatever is, is in its causes just.
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Time glides with undiscover'd haste The future but a length behind the past.
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Secret guilt by silence is betrayed.
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The Jews, a headstrong, moody, murmuring race.
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Pleasure never comes sincere to man but lent by heaven upon hard usury.
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He who would pry behind the scenes oft sees a counterfeit.
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Ev'n wit's a burthen, when it talks too long.
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