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He is a perpetual fountain of good sense.

John Dryden

Dreams are but interludes that fancy makes… Sometimes forgotten things, long cast behind Rush forward in the brain, and come to mind.
JOHN DRYDEN

Dreams Forget Forward Mindset Time
Trust reposed in noble natures obliges them the more.
JOHN DRYDEN

Nature Obligation Response Trust
Old as I am, for ladies’ love unfit, The power of beauty I remember yet.
JOHN DRYDEN

Myself Old Power Remember
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

Beautiful Language Oneself
He who would pry behind the scenes oft sees a counterfeit.
JOHN DRYDEN

Himself Scene
When we view elevated ideas of Nature, the result of that view is admiration, which is always the cause of pleasure.
JOHN DRYDEN

Ideas Nature Pleasure View
None would live past years again, Yet all hope pleasure in what yet remain; And, from the dregs of life, think to receive, What the first sprightly running could not give.
JOHN DRYDEN

Hope Life Live Pleasure Run Thinking
Swift was the race, but short the time to run.
JOHN DRYDEN

Race Run Swift Time
The glorious lamp of heaven, the radiant sun, Is Nature’s eye.
JOHN DRYDEN

Eyes Heaven Nature
Presence of mind and courage in distress, Are more than arrives to procure success?
JOHN DRYDEN

Courage Mindset Presence Success
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

Himself Man Paradise Sin Sorrow Woman
If thou dost still retain the same ill habits, the same follies, too, still thou art bound to vice, and still a slave.
JOHN DRYDEN

Bound Habit Slave Vice
Pains of love be sweeter far than all other pleasures are.
JOHN DRYDEN

Love Pain Pleasure
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
He trudged along unknowing what he sought, And whistled as he went, for want of thought.
JOHN DRYDEN

Thinking Unknown Whistle
So the false spider, when her nets are spread, deep ambushed in her silent den does lie.
JOHN DRYDEN

Fake Lying Silence

He is a perpetual fountain of good sense.

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He is a perpetual fountain of good sense.

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