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Fool that I was, upon my eagle’s wings I bore this wren, till I was tired with soaring, and now he mounts above me.

John Dryden

There’s a proud modesty in merit; averse from asking, and resolved to pay ten times the gifts it asks.
JOHN DRYDEN

Gift Modesty Proud Time
For what can power give more than food and drink, To live at ease, and not be bound to think?
JOHN DRYDEN

Bound Drink Food Live Power Thinking
Deathless laurel is the victor’s due.
JOHN DRYDEN

Death Due
They first condemn that first advised the ill.
JOHN DRYDEN

Advise Sick
The winds are out of breath.
JOHN DRYDEN

Breathe Wind
None are so busy as the fool and the knave.
JOHN DRYDEN

Busy Fools
All empire is no more than power in trust.
JOHN DRYDEN

Empire Power Trust
They, who would combat general authority with particular opinion, must first establish themselves a reputation of understanding better than other men.
JOHN DRYDEN

Authority Better General Man Opinion Understand
Plots, true or false, are necessary things, To raise up commonwealths and ruin kings.
JOHN DRYDEN

Fake King Necessary Ruin True
They think too little who talk too much.
JOHN DRYDEN

Talk Thinking
As one that neither seeks, nor shuns his foe.
JOHN DRYDEN

Enemy One Liner Seek Shine
They say everything in the world is good for something.
JOHN DRYDEN

Goodness Karma World
Dreams are but interludes that fancy makes… Sometimes forgotten things, long cast behind Rush forward in the brain, and come to mind.
JOHN DRYDEN

Dreams Forget Forward Mindset Time
Every language is so full of its own proprieties that what is beautiful in one is often barbarous, nay, sometimes nonsense, in another.
JOHN DRYDEN

Beautiful Language Oneself
We can never be grieved for their miseries who are thoroughly wicked, and have thereby justly called their calamities on themselves.
JOHN DRYDEN

Adversity Grief Misery Wicket
What passion cannot music raise and quell!
JOHN DRYDEN

Music Passion Raise

Fool that I was, upon my eagle’s wings I bore this wren, till I was tired with soaring, and now he mounts above me.

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Fool that I was, upon my eagle’s wings I bore this wren, till I was tired with soaring, and now he mounts above me.

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