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John Dryden quotes - page 4
Railing in other men may be a crime, But ought to pass for mere instinct in him: Instinct he follows and no further knows, For to write verse with him is to transpose.
John Dryden
Possess your soul with patience.
John Dryden
The true Amphitryon is the Amphitryon where we dine.
John Dryden
The soft complaining flute, In dying notes, discovers The woes of hopeless lovers.
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
A satirical poet is the check of the laymen on bad priests.
John Dryden
Chaucer followed Nature everywhere, but was never so bold to go beyond her.
John Dryden
A man is to be cheated into passion, but to be reasoned into truth.
John Dryden
I am resolved to grow fat, and look young till forty.
John Dryden
Wit will shine Through the harsh cadence of a rugged line.
John Dryden
Second thoughts, they say, are best.
John Dryden
Men are but children of a larger growth; Our appetites as apt to change as theirs, And full as craving, too, and full as vain.
John Dryden
I am reading Jonson's verses to the memory of Shakespeare; an insolent, sparing, and invidious panegyric...
John Dryden
Reason to rule, but mercy to forgive The first is law, the last prerogative.
John Dryden
And torture one poor word ten thousand ways.
John Dryden
Lord of humankind.
John Dryden
A thing well said will be wit in all languages.
John Dryden
The trumpet's loud clangor Excites us to arms.
John Dryden
Bold knaves thrive without one grain of sense, But good men starve for want of impudence.
John Dryden
Secret guilt is by silence revealed.
John Dryden
Truth is the foundation of all knowledge and the cement of all societies.
John Dryden
When I consider life, 't is all a cheat. Yet fool'd with hope, men favour the deceit; 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. Strange cozenage! 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
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