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Love reckons hours for months, and days for years; and every little absence is an age.

John Dryden

None but the brave deserve the fair.
JOHN DRYDEN

Brave Deserve Fair
And plenty makes us poor.
JOHN DRYDEN

Poor
Shakespeare was the Homer, or father of our dramatic poets;Jonson was theVirgil, the pattern of elaborate writing; I admire him, but I love Shakespeare.
JOHN DRYDEN

Admire Drama Father Himself Home Poet Writing
Present joys are more to flesh and blood Than a dull prospect of a distant good.
JOHN DRYDEN

Distance Flesh Goodness Present
He look’d in years, yet in his years were seen A youthful vigor, and autumnal green.
JOHN DRYDEN

Green Himself Youth
He was exhaled; his great Creator drew His spirit, as the sun the morning dew.
JOHN DRYDEN

Creation Dew Greatness Himself Morning Spirit
Nor is the people’s judgment always true: the most may err as grossly as the few.
JOHN DRYDEN

Judgment People True
Seas are the fields of combat for the winds; but when they sweep along some flowery coast, their wings move mildly, and their rage is lost.
JOHN DRYDEN

Lost Mild Rage Sea Wind
Old as I am, for ladies’ love unfit, The power of beauty I remember yet.
JOHN DRYDEN

Myself Old Power Remember
They, who would combat general authority with particular opinion, must first establish themselves a reputation of understanding better than other men.
JOHN DRYDEN

Authority Better General Man Opinion Understand
Satire among the Romans, but not among the Greeks, was a bitter invective poem.
JOHN DRYDEN

Bitter Poem Satire
Youth should watch joys and shoot them as they fly.
JOHN DRYDEN

Fly Joy Youth
The conscience of a people is their power.
JOHN DRYDEN

Conscience People Power
All objects lose by too familiar a view.
JOHN DRYDEN

Familiar Lose Object View
He who trusts secrets to a servant makes him his master.
JOHN DRYDEN

Himself Master Secret Servant Trust
Be slow to resolve, but quick in performance.
JOHN DRYDEN

Performance Quick Slow

Love reckons hours for months, and days for years; and every little absence is an age.

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Love reckons hours for months, and days for years; and every little absence is an age.

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Popular Authors

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