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Good sense and good nature are never separated and good nature is the product of right reason.
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
Sense
Nature
Reason
Right
Good
Never
Separated
Product
Products
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Ever a glutton, at another's cost, But in whose kitchen dwells perpetual frost.
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Love and Time with reverence use, Treat them like a parting friend: Nor the golden gifts refuse Which in youth sincere they send: For each year their price is more, And they less simple than before.
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Good Heaven, whose darling attribute we find is boundless grace, and mercy to mankind, abhors the cruel.
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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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The fortitude of a Christian consists in patience, not in enterprises which the poets call heroic, and which are commonly the effects of interest, pride and worldly honor.
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Blown roses hold their sweetness to the last.
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Love works a different way in different minds, the fool it enlightens and the wise it blinds.
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Bold knaves thrive without one grain of sense, But good men starve for want of impudence.
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My whole life Has been a golden dream of love and friendship.
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Beauty, like ice, our footing does betray Who can tread sure on the smooth, slippery way: Pleased with the surface, we glide swiftly on, And see the dangers that we cannot shun.
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The poorest of the sex have still an itch To know their fortunes, equal to the rich. The dairy-maid inquires, if she shall take The trusty tailor, and the cook forsake.
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The Fates but only spin the coarser clue The finest of the wool is left for you.
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The winds are out of breath.
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I maintain, against the enemies of the stage, that patterns of piety, decently represented, may second the precepts.
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Imitators are but a servile kind of cattle.
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A lazy frost, a numbness of the mind.
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If one must be rejected, one succeed, make him my lord within whose faithful breast is fixed my image, and who loves me best.
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A knock-down argument 'tis but a word and a blow.
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Secret guilt is by silence revealed.
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The trumpet's loud clangor Excites us to arms.
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