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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
Work
Esteemed
Heroic
Poetry
Greatest
Nature
Ever
Human
Humans

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The elephant is never won by anger nor must that man who would reclaim a lion take him by the teeth.
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A farce is that in poetry which grotesque (caricature) is in painting. The persons and actions of a farce are all unnatural, and the manners false, that is, inconsistent with the characters of mankind and grotesque painting is the just resemblance of this.
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One cannot say he wanted wit, but rather that he was frugal of it.
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For danger levels man and brute And all are fellows in their need.
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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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The greater part performed achieves the less.
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Virtue in distress, and vice in triumph make atheists of mankind.
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Forgiveness to the injured does belong but they ne'er pardon who have done wrong.
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The secret pleasure of a generous act Is the great mind's great bribe.
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The propriety of thoughts and words, which are the hidden beauties of a play, are but confusedly judged in the vehemence of action.
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Ev'n wit's a burthen, when it talks too long.
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He wants worth who dares not praise a foe.
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Wit will shine Through the harsh cadence of a rugged line.
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Virtue without success is a fair picture shown by an ill light but lucky men are favorites of heaven all own the chief, when fortune owns the cause.
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I'm a little wounded, but I am not slain I will lay me down to bleed a while. Then I'll rise and fight again.
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The wretched have no friends.
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A brave man scorns to quarrel once a day Like Hectors in at every petty fray.
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Trust on and think To-morrow will repay To-morrow's falser than the former day Lies worse and while it says, we shall be blest With some new Joys, cuts off what we possest.
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How happy the lover, How easy his chain, How pleasing his pain, How sweet to discover He sighs not in vain.
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Pleasure never comes sincere to man but lent by heaven upon hard usury.
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