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Men's virtues I have commended as freely as I have taxed their crimes.

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
Virtue
Men
Commended
Taxed
Freely
Crimes
Virtues
Taxes
Crime

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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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For thee, sweet month the groves green liveries wear. If not the first, the fairest of the year For thee the Graces lead the dancing hours, And Nature's ready pencil paints the flowers. When thy short reign is past, the feverish sun The sultry tropic fears, and moves more slowly on.
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As when the dove returning bore the mark Of earth restored to the long labouring ark The relics of mankind, secure at rest, Oped every window to receive the guest, And the fair bearer of the message bless'd.
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Democracy is essentially anti-authoritarian--that is, it not only demands the right but imposes the responsibility of thinking for ourselves.
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Virtue in distress, and vice in triumph make atheists of mankind.
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Imitators are but a servile kind of cattle.
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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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No government has ever been, or can ever be, wherein time-servers and blockheads will not be uppermost.
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If passion rules, how weak does reason prove!
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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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Hushed as midnight silence.
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Long pains, with use of bearing, are half eased.
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They that possess the prince possess the laws.
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Learn to write well, or not to write at all.
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If we from wealth to poverty descend, Want gives to know the flatterer from the friend.
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Possess your soul with patience.
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How blessed is he, who leads a country life, Unvex'd with anxious cares, and void of strife! Who studying peace, and shunning civil rage, Enjoy'd his youth, and now enjoys his age: All who deserve his love, he makes his own And, to be lov'd himself, needs only to be known.
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Trust reposed in noble natures obliges them the more.
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Secret guilt by silence is betrayed.
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Fowls, by winter forced, forsake the floods, and wing their hasty flight to happier lands.
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