They think too little who talk too much.
JOHN DRYDENThus all below is strength, and all above is grace.
More John Dryden Quotes
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Virgil and Horace were the severest writers of the severest age.
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By education most have been misled.
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For Art may err, but Nature cannot miss.
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The secret pleasure of a generous act Is the great mind’s great bribe.
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Great souls forgive not injuries till time has put their enemies within their power, that they may show forgiveness is their own.
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Take not away the life you cannot give: For all things have an equal right to live.
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Let grace and goodness be the principal loadstone of thy affections. For love which hath ends, will have an end; whereas that which is founded on true virtue, will always continue.
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Sweet is pleasure after pain.
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Virtue is her own reward.
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He look’d in years, yet in his years were seen A youthful vigor, and autumnal green.
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Desire of greatness is a godlike sin.
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Great wits are sure to madness near allied, and thin partitions do their bounds divide.
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The sooner you treat your son as a man, the sooner he will be one.
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Fattened in vice, so callous and so gross, he sins and sees not, senseless of his loss.
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Youth, beauty, graceful action seldom fail: But common interest always will prevail; And pity never ceases to be shown To him who makes the people’s wrongs his own.
JOHN DRYDEN -
Treason is greatest where trust is greatest.
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Thus, while the mute creation downward bend Their sight, and to their earthly mother ten, Man looks aloft; and with erected eyes Beholds his own hereditary skies.
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Those who write ill, and they who ne’er durst write, Turn critics out of mere revenge and spite.
JOHN DRYDEN -
Murder may pass unpunished for a time, But tardy justice will overtake the crime.
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Satire among the Romans, but not among the Greeks, was a bitter invective poem.
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Fame then was cheap, and the first comer sped; And they have kept it since by being dead.
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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.
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Satire is a kind of poetry in which human vices are reprehended.
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He trudged along unknowing what he sought, And whistled as he went, for want of thought.
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Present joys are more to flesh and blood Than a dull prospect of a distant good.
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What, start at this! when sixty years have spread. Their grey experience o’er thy hoary head? Is this the all observing age could gain? Or hast thou known the world so long in vain?
JOHN DRYDEN