Tis a good thing to laugh at any rate; and if a straw can tickle a man, it is an instrument of happiness.
JOHN DRYDENO freedom, first delight of human kind!
More John Dryden Quotes
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For all the happiness mankind can gain Is not in pleasure, but in rest from pain.
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Nothing to build, and all things to destroy.
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Much malice mingled with a little wit Perhaps may censure this mysterious writ.
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For Art may err, but Nature cannot miss.
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A happy genius is the gift of nature.
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Pity only on fresh objects stays, but with the tedious sight of woes decays.
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Bold knaves thrive without one grain of sense, But good men starve for want of impudence.
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Time glides with undiscover’d haste; The future but a length behind the past.
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Honor is but an empty bubble.
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All things are subject to decay and when fate summons, monarchs must obey.
JOHN DRYDEN -
Faith is to believe what you do not yet see: the reward for this faith is to see what you believe. Thus all below is strength, and all above is grace.
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All delays are dangerous in war.
JOHN DRYDEN -
There is a proud modesty in merit.
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For they can conquer who believe they can.
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They first condemn that first advised the ill.
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Nor is the people’s judgment always true: the most may err as grossly as the few.
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Luxurious kings are to their people lost, They live like drones, upon the public cost.
JOHN DRYDEN -
Swift was the race, but short the time to run.
JOHN DRYDEN -
Repartee is the soul of conversation.
JOHN DRYDEN -
Him of the western dome, whose weighty sense Flows in fit words and heavenly eloquence.
JOHN DRYDEN -
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.
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Silence in times of suffering is the best.
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He who would search for pearls must dive below.
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Imagining is in itself the very height and life of poetry, which, by a kind of enthusiasm or extraordinary emotion of the soul, makes it seem to us that we behold those things which the poet paints.
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But how can finite grasp Infinity?
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Beware of the fury of the patient man.
JOHN DRYDEN