Quotes
Quotes - Dryden
He made all countries where he came his own.
Some truth there was, but dash'd and brew'd with lies, To please the fools, and puzzle all the wise.
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.
So liv'd our sires, ere doctors learn'd to kill, And multiplied with theirs the weekly bill.
There's a proud modesty in merit; averse from asking, and resolved to pay ten times the gifts it asks.
A very merry, dancing, drinking, Laughing, quaffing, and unthinking time.
Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, Fallen from his high estate, And welt'ring in his blood; Deserted at his utmost need, By those his former bounty fed; On the bare earth expos'd he lies, With not a friend to close his eyes.
When Misfortune is asleep, let no one wake her. [Lat., Quando la mala ventura se duerme, nadie la despierte.]
A mob is the scum that rises upmost when the nation boils.
Murder may pass unpunish'd for a time, But tardy justice will o'ertake the crime.
Above any Greek or Roman name.
Skill'd in the globe and sphere, he gravely stands, And, with his compass, measures seas and lands.
Ill news is wing'd with fate, and flies apace.
Ay, these look like the workmanship of heaven; This is the porcelain clay of human kind, And therefore cast into these noble moulds.
The monarch oak, the patriarch of the trees, Shoots rising up, and spreads by slow degrees. Three centuries he grows, and three he stays Supreme in state; and in three more decays.
Stiff in opinion, always in the wrong.
Hard features every bungler can command: To draw true beauty shows a master's hand.
Not heaven itself upon the past has power; But what has been, has been, and I have had my hour.
Beware the fury of a patient man.
Such subtle covenants shall be made, Till peace itself is war in masquerade.
At home the hateful names of parties cease, And factious souls are wearied into peace.
Rich the treasure, Sweet the pleasure, Sweet is pleasure after pain.
Doeg, though without knowing how or why, Made a still a blundering kind of melody; Spurr'd boldly on, and dash'd through thick and thin, Through sense and nonsense, never out nor in; Free from all meaning whether good or bad, And in one word, heroically mad.
The welcome news is in the letter found; The carrier's not commission'd to expound; It speaks itself, and what it does contain, In all things needful to be known is plain.
And plenty makes us poor.
