John Dryden Quotes

The brave man seeks not popular applause, Nor, overpower'd with arms, deserts his cause; Unsham'd, though foil'd, he does the best he can, Force is of brutes, but honor is of man.

Music is inarticulate poesy.

For danger levels man and brute And all are fellows in their need.

Resolved to ruin or to rule the state.

Such subtle Covenants shall be made,Till Peace it self is War in Masquerade.

Thoughts cannot form themselves in words so horrid As can express my guilt.

But wild Ambition loves to slide, not stand, And Fortune's ice prefers to Virtue's land.

Bankrupt of life, yet prodigal of ease.

Men are but children of a larger growth.

And nobler is a limited command, Given by the love of all your native land, Than a successive title, long and dark, Drawn from the mouldy rolls of Noah's Ark.

To die is landing on some distant shore.

Even victors are by victories undone.

The people's prayer, the glad diviner's theme, The young men's vision, and the old men's dream!

Woman's honor is nice as ermine; it will not bear a soil.

If you are for a merry jaunt, I will try, for once, who can foot it farthest.

The first is the law, the last prerogative.

Criticism, as it was first instituted by Aristotle, was meant as a standard of judging well; the chiefest part of which is to observe those excellencies which delight a reasonable reader.

With how much ease believe we what we wish!

Not to ask is not be denied.

By viewing nature, nature's handmaid art, Makes mighty things from small beginnings grow: Thus fishes first to shipping did impart, Their tail the rudder, and their head the prow.

Whistling to keep myself from being afraid.

Imitators are but a servile kind of cattle.

The elephant is never won by anger; nor must that man who would reclaim a lion take him by the teeth.

Let cheerfulness on happy fortune wait.

All habits gather by unseen degrees.

Love taught him shame, and shame with love at strife Soon taught the sweet civilities of life.

Imitation pleases, because it affords matter for inquiring into the truth or falsehood of imitation, by comparing its likeness or unlikeness with the original.

For my part, I can compare her (a gossip) to nothing but the sun; for, like him, she knows no rest, nor ever sets in one place but to rise in another.

Uncertain whose the narrowest span,--the clown unread, or half-read gentleman.

I maintain, against the enemies of the stage, that patterns of piety, decently represented, may second the precepts.

The propriety of thoughts and words, which are the hidden beauties of a play, are but confusedly judged in the vehemence of action.

The good we have enjoyed from Heaven's free will, and shall we murmur to endure the ill?

A lively faith will bear aloft the mind, and leave the luggage of good works behind.

For mysterious things of faith, rely on the proponent, Heaven's authority.

I feel my sinews slackened with the fright, and a cold sweat trills down all over my limbs, as if I were dissolving into water.

Good Heaven, whose darling attribute we find is boundless grace, and mercy to mankind, abhors the cruel.

The fortitude of a Christian consists in patience, not in enterprises which the poets call heroic, and which are commonly the effects of interest, pride and worldly honor.

And plenty makes us poor.

Pity only on fresh objects stays, but with the tedious sight of woes decays.

Courage from hearts and not from numbers grows.

Our vows are heard betimes! and Heaven takes care To grant, before we can conclude the prayer: Preventing angels met it half the way, And sent us back to praise, who came to pray.

Every age has a kind of universal genius, which inclines those that live in it to some particular studies.

But Shakespeare's magic could not copied be; Within that circle none durst walk but he.

No government has ever been, or can ever be, wherein time-servers and blockheads will not be uppermost.

While I am compassed round With mirth, my soul lies hid in shades of grief, Whence, like the bird of night, with half-shut eyes, She peeps, and sickens at the sight of day.

Death ends our woes, and the kind grave shuts up the mournful scene.

All objects lose by too familiar a view.

Satire among the Romans, but not among the Greeks, was a bitter invective poem.

Farewell, too little, and too lately known, Whom I began to think and call my own.

Not sharp revenge, nor hell itself can find, A fiercer torment than a guilty mind, Which day and night doth dreadfully accuse, Condemns the wretch, and still the charge renews.