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Bold knaves thrive without one grain of sense, But good men starve for want of impudence.

John Dryden

Youth, beauty, graceful action seldom fail: But common interest always will prevail; And pity never ceases to be shown To him who makes the people’s wrongs his own.
JOHN DRYDEN

Action Beautiful Fall Grace Himself People Wrong Youth
The winds are out of breath.
JOHN DRYDEN

Breathe Wind
Shame on the body for breaking down while the spirit perseveres.
JOHN DRYDEN

Body Break Preservation Shame Spirit
All empire is no more than power in trust.
JOHN DRYDEN

Empire Power Trust
I’m a little wounded, but I am not slain; I will lay me down to bleed a while. Then I’ll rise and fight again.
JOHN DRYDEN

Fight Myself Rise Wound
None would live past years again, Yet all hope pleasure in what yet remain; And, from the dregs of life, think to receive, What the first sprightly running could not give.
JOHN DRYDEN

Hope Life Live Pleasure Run Thinking
Time glides with undiscover’d haste; The future but a length behind the past.
JOHN DRYDEN

Discover Future Glide Haste Length Past
Great wits are sure to madness near allied, and thin partitions do their bounds divide.
JOHN DRYDEN

Bound Divison Greatness Intelligence Mad
For Art may err, but Nature cannot miss.
JOHN DRYDEN

Art Miss Mistake Nature
Plots, true or false, are necessary things, To raise up commonwealths and ruin kings.
JOHN DRYDEN

Fake King Necessary Ruin True
Satire among the Romans, but not among the Greeks, was a bitter invective poem.
JOHN DRYDEN

Bitter Poem Satire
For your ignorance is the mother of your devotion to me.
JOHN DRYDEN

Devotion Ignorance Mom Myself Yourself
Death ends our woes, and the kind grave shuts up the mournful scene.
JOHN DRYDEN

Death End Grave Kind Mourn
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
Welcome, thou kind deceiver! Thou best of thieves; who, with an easy key, Dost open life, and, unperceived by us, Even steal us from ourselves.
JOHN DRYDEN

Best Kind Ourselves Steal
A happy genius is the gift of nature.
JOHN DRYDEN

Genius Gift Happy Nature

Bold knaves thrive without one grain of sense, But good men starve for want of impudence.

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Bold knaves thrive without one grain of sense, But good men starve for want of impudence.

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