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Seas 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.

John Dryden

Tis a good thing to laugh at any rate; and if a straw can tickle a man, it is an instrument of happiness.
JOHN DRYDEN

Goodness Happiness Instrument Laughter Man Rate
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
But Shakespeare’s magic could not copied be; Within that circle none durst walk but he.
JOHN DRYDEN

Himself Magic Walk
Great wits are sure to madness near allied, and thin partitions do their bounds divide.
JOHN DRYDEN

Bound Divison Greatness Intelligence Mad
Three poets, in three distant ages born, Greece, Italy, and England did adorn. The first in loftiness of thought surpass’d; The next, in majesty; in both the last. The force of Nature could no further go; To make a third, she join’d the former two.
JOHN DRYDEN

Age Distant Force Herself Nature Poet
Present joys are more to flesh and blood Than a dull prospect of a distant good.
JOHN DRYDEN

Distance Flesh Goodness Present
War seldom enters but where wealth allures.
JOHN DRYDEN

Seldom War Wealth
But how can finite grasp Infinity?
JOHN DRYDEN

Finite Grasp Infinity
Long pains, with use of bearing, are half eased.
JOHN DRYDEN

Erase Pain
We must beat the iron while it is hot, but we may polish it at leisure.
JOHN DRYDEN

Chance Hot Iron Leisure
Sweet is pleasure after pain.
JOHN DRYDEN

Pain Pleasure Sweet
Dancing is the poetry of the foot.
JOHN DRYDEN

Dance Foot Poetry
All empire is no more than power in trust.
JOHN DRYDEN

Empire Power Trust
Set all things in their own peculiar place, and know that order is the greatest grace.
JOHN DRYDEN

Grace Known Order Place
Errors like straws upon the surface flow, Who would search for pearls to be grateful for often must dive below.
JOHN DRYDEN

Errors Flow Gratitude Surface
Bold knaves thrive without one grain of sense, But good men starve for want of impudence.
JOHN DRYDEN

Bold Goodness Starve

Seas 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.

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Seas 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.

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Popular Authors

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