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Death in itself is nothing; but we fear to be we know not what, we know not where.

John Dryden

Happy the man, and happy he alone, he who can call today his own; he who, secure within, can say, tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today.
JOHN DRYDEN

Alone Day Happiness Live Man Myself Secure Worst
Repentance is but want of power to sin.
JOHN DRYDEN

One Liner Power Regret Sin
None, none descends into himself, to find The secret imperfections of his mind: But every one is eagle-ey’d to see Another’s faults, and his deformity.
JOHN DRYDEN

Finding Himself Imperfection Mistake Secret
Politicians neither love nor hate.
JOHN DRYDEN

Hate Love Politics
We by art unteach what Nature taught.
JOHN DRYDEN

Art Nature Teaching
Death ends our woes, and the kind grave shuts up the mournful scene.
JOHN DRYDEN

Death End Grave Kind Mourn
All flowers will droop in the absence of the sun that waked their sweets.
JOHN DRYDEN

Absence Flower Sun Sweet Wake Up
Honor is but an empty bubble.
JOHN DRYDEN

Empty Respect
He who would pry behind the scenes oft sees a counterfeit.
JOHN DRYDEN

Himself Scene
If by the people you understand the multitude, the hoi polloi, ’tis no matter what they think; they are sometimes in the right, sometimes in the wrong; their judgment is a mere lottery.
JOHN DRYDEN

Judgement People Thinking Understand Wrong
All things are subject to decay and when fate summons, monarchs must obey.
JOHN DRYDEN

Decay Monarch Obedience Subject
Plots, true or false, are necessary things, To raise up commonwealths and ruin kings.
JOHN DRYDEN

Fake King Necessary Ruin True
Fowls, by winter forced, forsake the floods, and wing their hasty flight to happier lands.
JOHN DRYDEN

Force Happiness Land Winter
Sculptors are obliged to follow the manners of the painters, and to make many ample folds, which are unsufferable hardness, and more like a rock than a natural garment.
JOHN DRYDEN

Follow Natural Obligation Paint Rock Sculptor
What passion cannot music raise and quell!
JOHN DRYDEN

Music Passion Raise
And write whatever Time shall bring to pass With pens of adamant on plates of brass.
JOHN DRYDEN

Plate Time Writing

Death in itself is nothing; but we fear to be we know not what, we know not where.

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Death in itself is nothing; but we fear to be we know not what, we know not where.

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