Our souls sit close and silently within, And their own web from their own entrails spin; And when eyes meet far off, our sense is such, That, spider-like, we feel the tenderest touch.
JOHN DRYDENMany things impossible to thought have been by need to full perfection brought.
More John Dryden Quotes
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Fowls, by winter forced, forsake the floods, and wing their hasty flight to happier lands.
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Dreams are but interludes that fancy makes… Sometimes forgotten things, long cast behind Rush forward in the brain, and come to mind.
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We can never be grieved for their miseries who are thoroughly wicked, and have thereby justly called their calamities on themselves.
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They that possess the prince possess the laws.
JOHN DRYDEN -
Blown roses hold their sweetness to the last.
JOHN DRYDEN -
Riches cannot rescue from the grave, which claims alike the monarch and the slave.
JOHN DRYDEN -
He who would pry behind the scenes oft sees a counterfeit.
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And plenty makes us poor.
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So softly death succeeded life in her, She did but dream of heaven, and she was there.
JOHN DRYDEN -
Politicians neither love nor hate.
JOHN DRYDEN -
God never made his work for man to mend.
JOHN DRYDEN -
Order is the greatest grace.
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He who trusts secrets to a servant makes him his master.
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Mighty things from small beginnings grow.
JOHN DRYDEN -
Confidence is the feeling we have before knowing all the facts.
JOHN DRYDEN






