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Heroic poetry has ever been esteemed the greatest work of human 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
Greatest
Nature
Ever
Human
Humans
Work
Esteemed
Heroic
Poetry
More quotes by John Dryden
If one must be rejected, one succeed, make him my lord within whose faithful breast is fixed my image, and who loves me best.
John Dryden
He wants worth who dares not praise a foe.
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A brave man scorns to quarrel once a day Like Hectors in at every petty fray.
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Kings fight for empires, madmen for applause.
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Beauty is nothing else but a just accord and mutual harmony of the members, animated by a healthful constitution.
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The fool of nature stood with stupid eyes And gaping mouth, that testified surprise.
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Humility and resignation are our prime virtues.
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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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They, who would combat general authority with particular opinion, must first establish themselves a reputation of understanding better than other men.
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Here lies my wife: here let her lie! Now she's at rest, and so am I.
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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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They first condemn that first advised the ill.
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Love is love's reward.
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When I consider life, it is all a cheat. Yet fooled with hope, people favor this deceit.
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I feel my sinews slackened with the fright, and a cold sweat trills down all over my limbs, as if I were dissolving into water.
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All habits gather by unseen degrees.
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Mere poets are sottish as mere drunkards are, who live in a continual mist, without seeing or judging anything clearly. A man should be learned in several sciences, and should have a reasonable, philosophical and in some measure a mathematical head, to be a complete and excellent poet.
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Not to ask is not be denied.
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Sweet is pleasure after pain.
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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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