John Dryden Quotes

Better to hunt in fields, for health unbought, Than fee the doctor for a nauseous draught, The wise, for cure, on exercise depend; God never made his work for man to mend.

Riches cannot rescue from the grave, which claims alike the monarch and the slave.

Reason to rule, mercy to forgive: The first is law, the last prerogative. Life is an adventure in forgiveness.

When I consider life, it is all a cheat. Yet fooled with hope, people favor this deceit.

He invades authors like a monarch; and what would be theft in other poets is only victory in him.

Possess your soul with patience.

Genius must be born, and never can be taught.

I am as free as nature first made man, Ere the base laws of servitude began, When wild in woods the noble savage ran.

When a man's life is under debate, The judge can ne'er too long deliberate.

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

Beauty, like ice, our footing does betray; Who can tread sure on the smooth, slippery way: Pleased with the surface, we glide swiftly on, And see the dangers that we cannot shun.

And love's the noblest frailty of the mind.

By education most have been misled.

Boldness is a mask for fear, however great.

Few know the use of life before 'tis past.

Calms appear, when Storms are past; Love will have his Hour at last: Nature is my kindly Care; Mars destroys, and I repair; Take me, take me, while you may, Venus comes not ev'ry Day.

Old age creeps on us ere we think it nigh.

Secret guilt is by silence revealed.

The scum that rises upmost, when the nation boils.

Presence of mind and courage in distress, Are more than arrives to procure success?

Silence in times of suffering is the best.

Reason is a crutch for age, but youth is strong enough to walk alone.

Anger will never disappear so long as thoughts of resentment are cherished in the mind. Anger will disappear just as soon as thoughts of resentment are forgotten.

Plots, true or false, are necessary things, To raise up commonwealths and ruin kings.

None, none descends into himself, to find The secret imperfections of his mind: But every one is eagle-ey'd to see Another's faults, and his deformity.

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.

Death in itself is nothing; but we fear to be we know not what, we know not where.

For Art may err, but Nature cannot miss.

Nor is the people's judgment always true: the most may err as grossly as the few.

We can never be grieved for their miseries who are thoroughly wicked, and have thereby justly called their calamities on themselves.

Errors like straws upon the surface flow, Who would search for pearls to be grateful for often must dive below.

Fool, not to know that love endures no tie, And Jove but laughs at lovers' perjury.

God never made his work for man to mend.

At home the hateful names of parties cease, And factious souls are wearied into peace.

Take not away the life you cannot give: For all things have an equal right to live.

For all the happiness mankind can gain Is not in pleasure, but in rest from pain.

For secrets are edged tools, And must be kept from children and from fools.

Bold knaves thrive without one grain of sense, But good men starve for want of impudence.

All things are subject to decay and when fate summons, monarchs must obey.

War is the trade of kings.

Only man clogs his happiness with care, destroying what is with thoughts of what may be.

Beauty is nothing else but a just accord and mutual harmony of the members, animated by a healthful constitution.

Forgiveness to the injured does belong; but they ne'er pardon who have done wrong.

If thou dost still retain the same ill habits, the same follies, too, still thou art bound to vice, and still a slave.

The soft complaining flute, In dying notes, discovers The woes of hopeless lovers.

An hour will come, with pleasure to relate Your sorrows past, as benefits of Fate.

Desire of greatness is a godlike sin.

The Fates but only spin the coarser clue; The finest of the wool is left for you.

There is a pleasure in being mad, which none but madmen know.

Old as I am, for ladies' love unfit, The power of beauty I remember yet.