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Content with poverty, my soul I arm; And virtue, though in rags, will keep me warm.

John Dryden

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

Creation Dew Greatness Himself Morning Spirit
Luxurious kings are to their people lost, They live like drones, upon the public cost.
JOHN DRYDEN

Live Lost Luxury People Public
Dancing is the poetry of the foot.
JOHN DRYDEN

Dance Foot Poetry
Pride – Lord of human kind.
JOHN DRYDEN

Human Kind Pride
Honor is but an empty bubble.
JOHN DRYDEN

Empty Respect
At home the hateful names of parties cease, And factious souls are wearied into peace.
JOHN DRYDEN

Hate Home Name Peace Soul
All empire is no more than power in trust.
JOHN DRYDEN

Empire Power Trust
Satire among the Romans, but not among the Greeks, was a bitter invective poem.
JOHN DRYDEN

Bitter Poem Satire
No government has ever been, or can ever be, wherein time-servers and blockheads will not be uppermost.
JOHN DRYDEN

Block Government Time
Only man clogs his happiness with care, destroying what is with thoughts of what may be.
JOHN DRYDEN

Care Destroy Happiness Man Thinking
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
No king nor nation one moment can retard the appointed hour.
JOHN DRYDEN

King Mad Moments Nation
As one that neither seeks, nor shuns his foe.
JOHN DRYDEN

Enemy One Liner Seek Shine
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
Merit challenges envy.
JOHN DRYDEN

Advantage Jealous One Liner
Fiction is of the essence of poetry as well as of painting; there is a resemblance in one of human bodies, things, and actions which are not real, and in the other of a true story by fiction.
JOHN DRYDEN

Action Essence Fiction Human Poetry Story

Content with poverty, my soul I arm; And virtue, though in rags, will keep me warm.

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Content with poverty, my soul I arm; And virtue, though in rags, will keep me warm.

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Popular Authors

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