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If you have lived, take thankfully the past. Make, as you can, the sweet remembrance last.

John Dryden

A farce is that in poetry which grotesque (caricature) is in painting. The persons and actions of a farce are all unnatural, and the manners false, that is, inconsistent with the characters of mankind; and grotesque painting is the just resemblance of this.
JOHN DRYDEN

Character Kind Man Natural Painting Person Poetry
Let grace and goodness be the principal loadstone of thy affections.
JOHN DRYDEN

Affection Goodness Grace Principal
But Shakespeare’s magic could not copied be; Within that circle none durst walk but he.
JOHN DRYDEN

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

Author Himself Poet Theft Victory
For they can conquer who believe they can.
JOHN DRYDEN

Believe Conquer
We by art unteach what Nature taught.
JOHN DRYDEN

Art Nature Teaching
Zeal, the blind conductor of the will.
JOHN DRYDEN

Blind Willing Zeal
Of all the tyrannies on human kind the worst is that which persecutes the mind.
JOHN DRYDEN

Human Kind Mindset Worst
Repartee is the soul of conversation.
JOHN DRYDEN

Conversation One Liner Soul
So softly death succeeded life in her, She did but dream of heaven, and she was there.
JOHN DRYDEN

Death Dreams Heaven Herself Life Success
Trust reposed in noble natures obliges them the more.
JOHN DRYDEN

Nature Obligation Response Trust
Beware the fury of a patient man.
JOHN DRYDEN

Fury Man Patience
Three poets, in three distant ages born, Greece, Italy, and England did adorn. The first in loftiness of thought surpass’d; The next, in majesty; in both the last. The force of Nature could no further go; To make a third, she join’d the former two.
JOHN DRYDEN

Age Distant Force Herself Nature Poet
More liberty begets desire of more; The hunger still increases with the store.
JOHN DRYDEN

Desire Hungry Liberty Store
He trudged along unknowing what he sought, And whistled as he went, for want of thought.
JOHN DRYDEN

Thinking Unknown Whistle
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 DRYDEN

Eyes Feeling Ourselves Soul Tender Togetherness Touch

If you have lived, take thankfully the past. Make, as you can, the sweet remembrance last.

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If you have lived, take thankfully the past. Make, as you can, the sweet remembrance last.

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Popular Authors

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