black
grey
blue
red
brown
white

Death ends our woes, and the kind grave shuts up the mournful scene.

John Dryden

Men are but children of a larger growth, Our appetites as apt to change as theirs, And full as craving too, and full as vain.
JOHN DRYDEN

Children Crave Growth Man
O freedom, first delight of human kind!
JOHN DRYDEN

Delight Freedom Human Kind
Keen appetite And quick digestion wait on you and yours.
JOHN DRYDEN

Appetite Digestion Quick Yourself
Luxurious kings are to their people lost, They live like drones, upon the public cost.
JOHN DRYDEN

Live Lost Luxury People Public
Errors like straws upon the surface flow, Who would search for pearls to be grateful for often must dive below.
JOHN DRYDEN

Errors Flow Gratitude Surface
Among our crimes oblivion may be set.
JOHN DRYDEN

Crime Oblivion
For age but tastes of pleasures youth devours.
JOHN DRYDEN

Age Devour Pleasure Taste Youth
We first make our habits, and then our habits make us.
JOHN DRYDEN

Character Habit Inspirational Nature Ourselves
Since every man who lives is born to die, And none can boast sincere felicity, With equal mind, what happens, let us bear, Nor joy nor grieve too much for things beyond our care. Like pilgrims to the’ appointed place we tend; The world’s an inn, and death the journey’s end.
JOHN DRYDEN

Boast Born Death End Journey Live Man Place Sincere
What precious drops are those, Which silently each other’s track pursue, Bright as young diamonds in their faint dew?
JOHN DRYDEN

Dew Precious Pursue Track Young
A good conscience is a port which is landlocked on every side, where no winds can possibly invade. There a man may not only see his own image, but that of his Maker, clearly reflected from the undisturbed waters.
JOHN DRYDEN

Conscience Goodness Image Man Reflection Water
But Shakespeare’s magic could not copied be; Within that circle none durst walk but he.
JOHN DRYDEN

Himself Magic Walk
Secret guilt is by silence revealed.
JOHN DRYDEN

Guilty Reveal Secret Silence
For your ignorance is the mother of your devotion to me.
JOHN DRYDEN

Devotion Ignorance Mom Myself Yourself
For Art may err, but Nature cannot miss.
JOHN DRYDEN

Art Miss Mistake Nature
The trumpet’s loud clangor Excites us to arms.
JOHN DRYDEN

Excitement Loud

Death ends our woes, and the kind grave shuts up the mournful scene.

Related Topics

Popular Authors

Death ends our woes, and the kind grave shuts up the mournful scene.

Related Topics

Popular Authors

More John Dryden Quotes