Trust on and think To-morrow will repay; To-morrow’s falser than the former day; Lies worse; and while it says, we shall be blest With some new Joys, cuts off what we possest.
JOHN DRYDENNone, 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.
More John Dryden Quotes
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None are so busy as the fool and the knave.
JOHN DRYDEN -
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 -
I saw myself the lambent easy light Gild the brown horror, and dispel the night.
JOHN DRYDEN -
God never made his work for man to mend.
JOHN DRYDEN -
Virgil and Horace were the severest writers of the severest age.
JOHN DRYDEN -
Satire among the Romans, but not among the Greeks, was a bitter invective poem.
JOHN DRYDEN -
So softly death succeeded life in her, She did but dream of heaven, and she was there.
JOHN DRYDEN -
The love of liberty with life is given, And life itself the inferior gift of Heaven.
JOHN DRYDEN -
All heiresses are beautiful.
JOHN DRYDEN -
Blown roses hold their sweetness to the last.
JOHN DRYDEN -
Every language is so full of its own proprieties that what is beautiful in one is often barbarous, nay, sometimes nonsense, in another.
JOHN DRYDEN -
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 -
A woman’s counsel brought us first to woe, And made her man his paradise forego, Where at heart’s ease he liv’d; and might have been As free from sorrow as he was from sin.
JOHN DRYDEN -
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?
JOHN DRYDEN -
At home the hateful names of parties cease, And factious souls are wearied into peace.
JOHN DRYDEN