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The winds are out of breath.

John Dryden

To die for faction is a common evil, But to be hanged for nonsense is the devil.
JOHN DRYDEN

Common Death Devil Evil
Fiction is of the essence of poetry as well as of painting; there is a resemblance in one of human bodies, things, and actions which are not real, and in the other of a true story by fiction.
JOHN DRYDEN

Action Essence Fiction Human Poetry Story
Self-defense is Nature’s eldest law.
JOHN DRYDEN

Defense Law Nature
We must beat the iron while it is hot, but we may polish it at leisure.
JOHN DRYDEN

Chance Hot Iron Leisure
The love of liberty with life is given, And life itself the inferior gift of Heaven.
JOHN DRYDEN

Gift Heaven Liberty Life Love
Death ends our woes, and the kind grave shuts up the mournful scene.
JOHN DRYDEN

Death End Grave Kind Mourn
Swift was the race, but short the time to run.
JOHN DRYDEN

Race Run Swift Time
Virtue in distress, and vice in triumph make atheists of mankind.
JOHN DRYDEN

Kind Man Vice Virtue
Repentance is but want of power to sin.
JOHN DRYDEN

One Liner Power Regret Sin
All authors to their own defects are blind.
JOHN DRYDEN

Author Blind Defect
What precious drops are those, Which silently each other’s track pursue, Bright as young diamonds in their faint dew?
JOHN DRYDEN

Dew Precious Pursue Track Young
And plenty makes us poor.
JOHN DRYDEN

Poor
Sure there’s contagion in the tears of friends.
JOHN DRYDEN

Friendship Tears
They first condemn that first advised the ill.
JOHN DRYDEN

Advise Sick
Keen appetite And quick digestion wait on you and yours.
JOHN DRYDEN

Appetite Digestion Quick Yourself
Fattened in vice, so callous and so gross, he sins and sees not, senseless of his loss.
JOHN DRYDEN

Himself Loss See Vice

The winds are out of breath.

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The winds are out of breath.

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