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 DRYDENSince 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.
More John Dryden Quotes
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There is a pleasure in being mad, which none but madmen know.
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Happy, happy, happy pair! None but the brave deserves the fair.
JOHN DRYDEN -
Forgiveness to the injured does belong; but they ne’er pardon who have done wrong.
JOHN DRYDEN -
Old age creeps on us where we think it night.
JOHN DRYDEN -
Satire is a kind of poetry in which human vices are reprehended.
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If the faults of men in orders are only to be judged among themselves, they are all in some sort parties; for, since they say the honour of their order is concerned in every member of it, how can we be sure that they will be impartial judges?
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He look’d in years, yet in his years were seen A youthful vigor, and autumnal green.
JOHN DRYDEN -
Dreams are but interludes that fancy makes… Sometimes forgotten things, long cast behind Rush forward in the brain, and come to mind.
JOHN DRYDEN -
All, as they say, that glitters is not gold.
JOHN DRYDEN -
Blown roses hold their sweetness to the last.
JOHN DRYDEN -
Nothing to build, and all things to destroy.
JOHN DRYDEN -
Not sharp revenge, nor hell itself can find, A fiercer torment than a guilty mind, Which day and night doth dreadfully accuse, Condemns the wretch, and still the charge renews.
JOHN DRYDEN -
Some of our philosophizing divines have too much exalted the faculties of our souls, when they have maintained that by their force mankind has been able to find out God.
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Fattened in vice, so callous and so gross, he sins and sees not, senseless of his loss.
JOHN DRYDEN -
Satire among the Romans, but not among the Greeks, was a bitter invective poem.
JOHN DRYDEN