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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

And write whatever Time shall bring to pass With pens of adamant on plates of brass.
JOHN DRYDEN

Plate Time Writing
Virtue is her own reward.
JOHN DRYDEN

One Liner Reward Virtue
All heiresses are beautiful.
JOHN DRYDEN

Beautiful One Liner
Freedom which in no other land will thrive, Freedom an English subject’s sole prerogative.
JOHN DRYDEN

Freedom Subject Thrive
Men are but children of a larger growth, Our appetites as apt to change as theirs, And full as craving too, and full as vain.
JOHN DRYDEN

Children Crave Growth Man
Love is a passion Which kindles honor into noble acts.
JOHN DRYDEN

Act Honor Love Passion
Great souls forgive not injuries till time has put their enemies within their power, that they may show forgiveness is their own.
JOHN DRYDEN

Enemy Forgiveness Greatness Injury Power Soul Time
Here lies my wife: here let her lie! Now she’s at rest, and so am I.
JOHN DRYDEN

Lying Myself Wife
Self-defense is Nature’s eldest law.
JOHN DRYDEN

Defense Law Nature
And plenty makes us poor.
JOHN DRYDEN

Poor
Sweet is pleasure after pain.
JOHN DRYDEN

Pain Pleasure Sweet
Bold knaves thrive without one grain of sense, But good men starve for want of impudence.
JOHN DRYDEN

Bold Goodness Starve
Great wits are sure to madness near allied, and thin partitions do their bounds divide.
JOHN DRYDEN

Bound Divison Greatness Intelligence Mad
Content with poverty, my soul I arm; And virtue, though in rags, will keep me warm.
JOHN DRYDEN

Myself Poverty Soul Virtue Warm
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.
JOHN DRYDEN

Believe Faith Grace Reward See Strength
Thus all below is strength, and all above is grace.
JOHN DRYDEN

Grace Strength

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.

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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.

Related Topics

Popular Authors

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