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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

Blown roses hold their sweetness to the last.
JOHN DRYDEN

Hold Last Sweet
He who would pry behind the scenes oft sees a counterfeit.
JOHN DRYDEN

Himself Scene
To die for faction is a common evil, But to be hanged for nonsense is the devil.
JOHN DRYDEN

Common Death Devil Evil
Good sense and good-nature are never separated, though the ignorant world has thought otherwise. Good-nature, by which I mean beneficence and candor, is the product of right reason.
JOHN DRYDEN

Goodness Ignorance Nature Reason Right World
Silence in times of suffering is the best.
JOHN DRYDEN

Best Silence Suffering Time
Sweet is pleasure after pain.
JOHN DRYDEN

Pain Pleasure Sweet
I saw myself the lambent easy light Gild the brown horror, and dispel the night.
JOHN DRYDEN

Brown Easy Light Night
All heiresses are beautiful.
JOHN DRYDEN

Beautiful One Liner
Reason is a crutch for age, but youth is strong enough to walk alone.
JOHN DRYDEN

Age Alone Enough Reason Strong Walk Youth
A narrow mind begets obstinacy; we do not easily believe what we cannot see.
JOHN DRYDEN

Believe Easy Invisible Mindset Unknown
For age but tastes of pleasures youth devours.
JOHN DRYDEN

Age Devour Pleasure Taste Youth
He who would search for pearls must dive below.
JOHN DRYDEN

Himself Pearl Search
Shakespeare was the Homer, or father of our dramatic poets;Jonson was theVirgil, the pattern of elaborate writing; I admire him, but I love Shakespeare.
JOHN DRYDEN

Admire Drama Father Himself Home Poet Writing
Desire of greatness is a godlike sin.
JOHN DRYDEN

Desire God Greatness Sin
Happy the man, and happy he alone, he who can call today his own; he who, secure within, can say, tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today.
JOHN DRYDEN

Alone Day Happiness Live Man Myself Secure Worst
Keen appetite And quick digestion wait on you and yours.
JOHN DRYDEN

Appetite Digestion Quick Yourself
Great wits are sure to madness near allied, and thin partitions do their bounds divide.
JOHN DRYDEN

Bound Divison Greatness Intelligence Mad
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
And that the Scriptures, though not everywhere Free from corruption, or entire, or clear, Are uncorrupt, sufficient, clear, entire In all things which our needful faith require.
JOHN DRYDEN

Corruption Faith Freedom Need Scripture Sufficient
Tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today: Be fair or foul or rain or shine, The joys I have possessed in spite of fate are mine. Not heaven itself upon the past has power; But what has been has been, and I have had my hour.
JOHN DRYDEN

Live Myself Past Power Rain Shine Worst
Murder may pass unpunished for a time, But tardy justice will overtake the crime.
JOHN DRYDEN

Crime Murder Punishment Time
Content with poverty, my soul I arm; And virtue, though in rags, will keep me warm.
JOHN DRYDEN

Myself Poverty Soul Virtue Warm
For those whom God to ruin has design’d, He fits for fate, and first destroys their mind.
JOHN DRYDEN

Design God Mindset Ruin
None, none descends into himself, to find The secret imperfections of his mind: But every one is eagle-ey’d to see Another’s faults, and his deformity.
JOHN DRYDEN

Finding Himself Imperfection Mistake Secret
I’m a little wounded, but I am not slain; I will lay me down to bleed a while. Then I’ll rise and fight again.
JOHN DRYDEN

Fight Myself Rise Wound
Repartee is the soul of conversation.
JOHN DRYDEN

Conversation One Liner Soul
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.
JOHN DRYDEN

Emotion Enthusiasm Height Imagination Paint Poet Soul

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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