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.
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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 DRYDENThe scum that rises upmost, when the nation boils.
JOHN DRYDENFor they can conquer who believe they can.
JOHN DRYDENHe was exhaled; his great Creator drew His spirit, as the sun the morning dew.
JOHN DRYDENAll delays are dangerous in war.
JOHN DRYDENThere’s a proud modesty in merit; averse from asking, and resolved to pay ten times the gifts it asks.
JOHN DRYDENLong pains, with use of bearing, are half eased.
JOHN DRYDENThe thought of being nothing after death is a burden insupportable to a virtuous man.
JOHN DRYDENThe winds are out of breath.
JOHN DRYDENDeath in itself is nothing; but we fear to be we know not what, we know not where.
JOHN DRYDENKings fight for empires, madmen for applause.
JOHN DRYDENAnd plenty makes us poor.
JOHN DRYDENSure there’s contagion in the tears of friends.
JOHN DRYDENThere is a pleasure in being mad, which none but madmen know.
JOHN DRYDENDesire of greatness is a godlike sin.
JOHN DRYDENSwift was the race, but short the time to run.
JOHN DRYDEN