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He invades authors like a monarch; and what would be theft in other poets is only victory in him.

John Dryden

Here lies my wife: here let her lie! Now she’s at rest, and so am I.
JOHN DRYDEN

Lying Myself Wife
Him of the western dome, whose weighty sense Flows in fit words and heavenly eloquence.
JOHN DRYDEN

Elegant Flower Heaven Western
Love is love’s reward.
JOHN DRYDEN

Love One Liner Reward
Luxurious kings are to their people lost, They live like drones, upon the public cost.
JOHN DRYDEN

Live Lost Luxury People Public
Bold knaves thrive without one grain of sense, But good men starve for want of impudence.
JOHN DRYDEN

Bold Goodness Starve
And write whatever Time shall bring to pass With pens of adamant on plates of brass.
JOHN DRYDEN

Plate Time Writing
Parting is worse than death; it is death of love!
JOHN DRYDEN

Death Love Part Worst
A good conscience is a port which is landlocked on every side, where no winds can possibly invade. There a man may not only see his own image, but that of his Maker, clearly reflected from the undisturbed waters.
JOHN DRYDEN

Conscience Goodness Image Man Reflection Water
Of all the tyrannies on human kind the worst is that which persecutes the mind.
JOHN DRYDEN

Human Kind Mindset Worst
They live too long who happiness outlive.
JOHN DRYDEN

Happiness Live
Honor is but an empty bubble.
JOHN DRYDEN

Empty Respect
Repentance is but want of power to sin.
JOHN DRYDEN

One Liner Power Regret Sin
By education most have been misled; So they believe, because they were bred. The priest continues where the nurse began, And thus the child imposes on the man.
JOHN DRYDEN

Believe Children Direction Education Lost Man
And plenty makes us poor.
JOHN DRYDEN

Poor
Sculptors are obliged to follow the manners of the painters, and to make many ample folds, which are unsufferable hardness, and more like a rock than a natural garment.
JOHN DRYDEN

Follow Natural Obligation Paint Rock Sculptor
A woman’s counsel brought us first to woe, And made her man his paradise forego, Where at heart’s ease he liv’d; and might have been As free from sorrow as he was from sin.
JOHN DRYDEN

Himself Man Paradise Sin Sorrow Woman

He invades authors like a monarch; and what would be theft in other poets is only victory in him.

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He invades authors like a monarch; and what would be theft in other poets is only victory in him.

Related Topics

Popular Authors

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