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Courage from hearts and not from numbers grows.
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
Grows
Heart
Hearts
Courage
Numbers
More quotes by John Dryden
There is a pleasure in being mad, which none but madmen know.
John Dryden
Good sense and good-nature are never separated, though the ignorant world has thought otherwise. Good-nature, by which I mean beneficence and candor, is the product of right reason.
John Dryden
Let Fortune empty her whole quiver on me, I have a soul that, like an ample shield, Can take in all, and verge enough for more Fate was not mine, nor am I Fate's: Souls know no conquerors.
John Dryden
The Fates but only spin the coarser clue The finest of the wool is left for you.
John Dryden
Railing and praising were his usual themes and both showed his judgment in extremes. Either over violent or over civil, so everyone to him was either god or devil.
John Dryden
Take not away the life you cannot give: For all things have an equal right to live.
John Dryden
Dreams are but interludes, which fancy makes When monarch reason sleeps, this mimic wakes.
John Dryden
So poetry, which is in Oxford made An art, in London only is a trade.
John Dryden
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.
John Dryden
Boldness is a mask for fear, however great.
John Dryden
When we view elevated ideas of Nature, the result of that view is admiration, which is always the cause of pleasure.
John Dryden
For Art may err, but Nature cannot miss.
John Dryden
Desire of greatness is a godlike sin.
John Dryden
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.
John Dryden
Imagination in a poet is a faculty so wild and lawless that, like a high ranging spaniel, it must have clogs tied to it, lest it outrun the judgment. The great easiness of blank verse renders the poet too luxuriant. He is tempted to say many things which might better be omitted, or, at least shut up in fewer words.
John Dryden
The winds are out of breath.
John Dryden
I have a soul that like an ample shield Can take in all, and verge enough for more.
John Dryden
But when to sin our biased nature leans, The careful Devil is still at hand with means And providently pimps for ill desires.
John Dryden
The wretched have no friends.
John Dryden
For your ignorance is the mother of your devotion to me.
John Dryden