black
grey
blue
red
brown
white

Among our crimes oblivion may be set.

John Dryden

Fool that I was, upon my eagle’s wings I bore this wren, till I was tired with soaring, and now he mounts above me.
JOHN DRYDEN

Eagle Fools Mount Myself Wings
And love’s the noblest frailty of the mind.
JOHN DRYDEN

Fragile Love Mindset
All, as they say, that glitters is not gold.
JOHN DRYDEN

Glitter Gold
Words are but pictures of our thoughts.
JOHN DRYDEN

Ourselves Photograph Thinking Word
Never was patriot yet, but was a fool.
JOHN DRYDEN

Fools One Liner Patriot
Satire is a kind of poetry in which human vices are reprehended.
JOHN DRYDEN

Human Kind Poetry Satire Vice
Zeal, the blind conductor of the will.
JOHN DRYDEN

Blind Willing Zeal
Pride – Lord of human kind.
JOHN DRYDEN

Human Kind Pride
The conscience of a people is their power.
JOHN DRYDEN

Conscience People Power
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
Love and Time with reverence use, Treat them like a parting friend: Nor the golden gifts refuse Which in youth sincere they send: For each year their price is more, And they less simple than before.
JOHN DRYDEN

Friendship Love Price Time Treat
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.
JOHN DRYDEN

Boast Born Death End Journey Live Man Place Sincere
Death ends our woes, and the kind grave shuts up the mournful scene.
JOHN DRYDEN

Death End Grave Kind Mourn
The bravest men are subject most to chance.
JOHN DRYDEN

Brave Chance Man Subject
He who trusts secrets to a servant makes him his master.
JOHN DRYDEN

Himself Master Secret Servant Trust
So the false spider, when her nets are spread, deep ambushed in her silent den does lie.
JOHN DRYDEN

Fake Lying Silence

Among our crimes oblivion may be set.

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Among our crimes oblivion may be set.

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