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But Shakespeare’s magic could not copied be; Within that circle none durst walk but he.

John Dryden

Death in itself is nothing; but we fear to be we know not what, we know not where.
JOHN DRYDEN

Death Fear Known
Old age creeps on us where we think it night.
JOHN DRYDEN

Age Night Old Ourselves
All objects lose by too familiar a view.
JOHN DRYDEN

Familiar Lose Object View
Dreams are but interludes that fancy makes… Sometimes forgotten things, long cast behind Rush forward in the brain, and come to mind.
JOHN DRYDEN

Dreams Forget Forward Mindset Time
Deathless laurel is the victor’s due.
JOHN DRYDEN

Death Due
O freedom, first delight of human kind!
JOHN DRYDEN

Delight Freedom Human Kind
Nor is the people’s judgment always true: the most may err as grossly as the few.
JOHN DRYDEN

Judgment People True
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

Goodness Ignorance Nature Reason Right World
He was exhaled; his great Creator drew His spirit, as the sun the morning dew.
JOHN DRYDEN

Creation Dew Greatness Himself Morning Spirit
God never made his work for man to mend.
JOHN DRYDEN

God Man Mend Work
Love is a passion Which kindles honor into noble acts.
JOHN DRYDEN

Act Honor Love Passion
We by art unteach what Nature taught.
JOHN DRYDEN

Art Nature Teaching
If passion rules, how weak does reason prove!
JOHN DRYDEN

Evidence Passion Reason Rule Weakness
For they can conquer who believe they can.
JOHN DRYDEN

Believe Conquer
Imagining is in itself the very height and life of poetry, which, by a kind of enthusiasm or extraordinary emotion of the soul, makes it seem to us that we behold those things which the poet paints.
JOHN DRYDEN

Emotion Enthusiasm Height Imagination Paint Poet Soul
Satire is a kind of poetry in which human vices are reprehended.
JOHN DRYDEN

Human Kind Poetry Satire Vice

But Shakespeare’s magic could not copied be; Within that circle none durst walk but he.

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But Shakespeare’s magic could not copied be; Within that circle none durst walk but he.

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