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Dancing is the poetry of the foot.

John Dryden

The winds are out of breath.
JOHN DRYDEN

Breathe Wind
He trudged along unknowing what he sought, And whistled as he went, for want of thought.
JOHN DRYDEN

Thinking Unknown Whistle
All heiresses are beautiful.
JOHN DRYDEN

Beautiful One Liner
Men’s virtues I have commended as freely as I have taxed their crimes.
JOHN DRYDEN

Crime Freedom Tax Virtue
Ill habits gather unseen degrees, as brooks make rivers, rivers run to seas.
JOHN DRYDEN

Degree River Sea
Of all the tyrannies on human kind the worst is that which persecutes the mind.
JOHN DRYDEN

Human Kind Mindset Worst
All empire is no more than power in trust.
JOHN DRYDEN

Empire Power Trust
Freedom which in no other land will thrive, Freedom an English subject’s sole prerogative.
JOHN DRYDEN

Freedom Subject Thrive
Content with poverty, my soul I arm; And virtue, though in rags, will keep me warm.
JOHN DRYDEN

Myself Poverty Soul Virtue Warm
Mighty things from small beginnings grow.
JOHN DRYDEN

Beginning Growth Small
Fiction is of the essence of poetry as well as of painting; there is a resemblance in one of human bodies, things, and actions which are not real, and in the other of a true story by fiction.
JOHN DRYDEN

Action Essence Fiction Human Poetry Story
For your ignorance is the mother of your devotion to me.
JOHN DRYDEN

Devotion Ignorance Mom Myself Yourself
Virtue is her own reward.
JOHN DRYDEN

One Liner Reward Virtue
Fool that I was, upon my eagle’s wings I bore this wren, till I was tired with soaring, and now he mounts above me.
JOHN DRYDEN

Eagle Fools Mount Myself Wings
Death in itself is nothing; but we fear to be we know not what, we know not where.
JOHN DRYDEN

Death Fear Known
Present joys are more to flesh and blood Than a dull prospect of a distant good.
JOHN DRYDEN

Distance Flesh Goodness Present

Dancing is the poetry of the foot.

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Dancing is the poetry of the foot.

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