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Good Heaven, whose darling attribute we find is boundless grace, and mercy to mankind, abhors the cruel.
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
Mercy
Whose
Mankind
Abhors
Grace
Attribute
Heaven
Boundless
Find
Darling
Good
Attributes
Cruel
More quotes by John Dryden
With odorous oil thy head and hair are sleek And then thou kemb'st the tuzzes on thy cheek: Of these, my barbers take a costly care.
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Reason is a crutch for age, but youth is strong enough to walk alone.
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Every language is so full of its own proprieties that what is beautiful in one is often barbarous, nay, sometimes nonsense, in another.
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I am resolved to grow fat and look young till forty, and then slip out of the world with the first wrinkle and the reputation of five-and-twenty.
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Virtue in distress, and vice in triumph make atheists of mankind.
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Dreams are but interludes that fancy makes... Sometimes forgotten things, long cast behind Rush forward in the brain, and come to mind.
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We must beat the iron while it is hot, but we may polish it at leisure.
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The fool of nature stood with stupid eyes And gaping mouth, that testified surprise.
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None but the brave deserve the fair.
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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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Light sufferings give us leisure to complain.
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Shame on the body for breaking down while the spirit perseveres.
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But when to sin our biased nature leans, The careful Devil is still at hand with means And providently pimps for ill desires.
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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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Youth should watch joys and shoot them as they fly.
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If we from wealth to poverty descend, Want gives to know the flatterer from the friend.
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Politicians neither love nor hate.
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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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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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