black
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The winds are out of breath.

John Dryden

What, start at this! when sixty years have spread. Their grey experience o’er thy hoary head? Is this the all observing age could gain? Or hast thou known the world so long in vain?
JOHN DRYDEN

Age Empty Experience Known Start World
Content with poverty, my soul I arm; And virtue, though in rags, will keep me warm.
JOHN DRYDEN

Myself Poverty Soul Virtue Warm
Go miser go, for money sell your soul. Trade wares for wares and trudge from pole to pole, So others may say when you are dead and gone. See what a vast estate he left his son.
JOHN DRYDEN

Estate Himself Misery Money Sell Soul
Of all the tyrannies on human kind the worst is that which persecutes the mind.
JOHN DRYDEN

Human Kind Mindset Worst
Good sense and good-nature are never separated, though the ignorant world has thought otherwise. Good-nature, by which I mean beneficence and candor, is the product of right reason.
JOHN DRYDEN

Goodness Ignorance Nature Reason Right World
Shakespeare was the Homer, or father of our dramatic poets;Jonson was theVirgil, the pattern of elaborate writing; I admire him, but I love Shakespeare.
JOHN DRYDEN

Admire Drama Father Himself Home Poet Writing
Death ends our woes, and the kind grave shuts up the mournful scene.
JOHN DRYDEN

Death End Grave Kind Mourn
Be slow to resolve, but quick in performance.
JOHN DRYDEN

Performance Quick Slow
Ill habits gather unseen degrees, as brooks make rivers, rivers run to seas.
JOHN DRYDEN

Degree River Sea
For Art may err, but Nature cannot miss.
JOHN DRYDEN

Art Miss Mistake Nature
Reason to rule, mercy to forgive: The first is law, the last prerogative. Life is an adventure in forgiveness.
JOHN DRYDEN

Adventure First Forgiveness Reason Rule
Fattened in vice, so callous and so gross, he sins and sees not, senseless of his loss.
JOHN DRYDEN

Himself Loss See Vice
Love is love’s reward.
JOHN DRYDEN

Love One Liner Reward
Dancing is the poetry of the foot.
JOHN DRYDEN

Dance Foot Poetry
Long pains, with use of bearing, are half eased.
JOHN DRYDEN

Erase Pain
He who would pry behind the scenes oft sees a counterfeit.
JOHN DRYDEN

Himself Scene

The winds are out of breath.

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The winds are out of breath.

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