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

John Dryden

Zeal, the blind conductor of the will.
JOHN DRYDEN

Blind Willing Zeal
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
He trudged along unknowing what he sought, And whistled as he went, for want of thought.
JOHN DRYDEN

Thinking Unknown Whistle
Ill habits gather unseen degrees, as brooks make rivers, rivers run to seas.
JOHN DRYDEN

Degree River Sea
He who trusts secrets to a servant makes him his master.
JOHN DRYDEN

Himself Master Secret Servant Trust
Reason is a crutch for age, but youth is strong enough to walk alone.
JOHN DRYDEN

Age Alone Enough Reason Strong Walk Youth
Sure there’s contagion in the tears of friends.
JOHN DRYDEN

Friendship Tears
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
A farce is that in poetry which grotesque (caricature) is in painting. The persons and actions of a farce are all unnatural, and the manners false, that is, inconsistent with the characters of mankind; and grotesque painting is the just resemblance of this.
JOHN DRYDEN

Character Kind Man Natural Painting Person Poetry
Hushed as midnight silence.
JOHN DRYDEN

One Liner Silence
They think too little who talk too much.
JOHN DRYDEN

Talk Thinking
All empire is no more than power in trust.
JOHN DRYDEN

Empire Power Trust
Swift was the race, but short the time to run.
JOHN DRYDEN

Race Run Swift Time
Deathless laurel is the victor’s due.
JOHN DRYDEN

Death Due
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
Time glides with undiscover’d haste; The future but a length behind the past.
JOHN DRYDEN

Discover Future Glide Haste Length Past

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

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

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Popular Authors

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