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 DRYDENSeas are the fields of combat for the winds; but when they sweep along some flowery coast, their wings move mildly, and their rage is lost.
More John Dryden Quotes
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Fame then was cheap, and the first comer sped; And they have kept it since by being dead.
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The trumpet’s loud clangor Excites us to arms.
JOHN DRYDEN -
They say everything in the world is good for something.
JOHN DRYDEN -
They that possess the prince possess the laws.
JOHN DRYDEN -
The scum that rises upmost, when the nation boils.
JOHN DRYDEN -
Deathless laurel is the victor’s due.
JOHN DRYDEN -
Virtue in distress, and vice in triumph make atheists of mankind.
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 -
Pity melts the mind to love.
JOHN DRYDEN -
But how can finite grasp Infinity?
JOHN DRYDEN -
Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries, See the Furies arise!
JOHN DRYDEN -
More liberty begets desire of more; The hunger still increases with the store.
JOHN DRYDEN -
Truth is the foundation of all knowledge and the cement of all societies.
JOHN DRYDEN -
Parting is worse than death; it is death of love!
JOHN DRYDEN -
An hour will come, with pleasure to relate Your sorrows past, as benefits of Fate.
JOHN DRYDEN