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Love reckons hours for months, and days for years; and every little absence is an age.

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

Charge Mindset Revenge Sharp
Love works a different way in different minds, the fool it enlightens and the wise it blinds.
JOHN DRYDEN

Different Fools Love Mindset Wisdom
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
No king nor nation one moment can retard the appointed hour.
JOHN DRYDEN

King Mad Moments Nation
All objects lose by too familiar a view.
JOHN DRYDEN

Familiar Lose Object View
So the false spider, when her nets are spread, deep ambushed in her silent den does lie.
JOHN DRYDEN

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

Common Death Devil Evil
No government has ever been, or can ever be, wherein time-servers and blockheads will not be uppermost.
JOHN DRYDEN

Block Government Time
Lucky men are favorites of Heaven.
JOHN DRYDEN

Favorite Heaven Man
They live too long who happiness outlive.
JOHN DRYDEN

Happiness Live
Kings fight for empires, madmen for applause.
JOHN DRYDEN

Fight King Mad Man Praise
A happy genius is the gift of nature.
JOHN DRYDEN

Genius Gift Happy Nature
Our souls sit close and silently within, And their own web from their own entrails spin; And when eyes meet far off, our sense is such, That, spider-like, we feel the tenderest touch.
JOHN DRYDEN

Eyes Feeling Ourselves Soul Tender Togetherness Touch
He look’d in years, yet in his years were seen A youthful vigor, and autumnal green.
JOHN DRYDEN

Green Himself Youth
Fattened in vice, so callous and so gross, he sins and sees not, senseless of his loss.
JOHN DRYDEN

Himself Loss See Vice
Words are but pictures of our thoughts.
JOHN DRYDEN

Ourselves Photograph Thinking Word

Love reckons hours for months, and days for years; and every little absence is an age.

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Love reckons hours for months, and days for years; and every little absence is an age.

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Popular Authors

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