Quotes from John Dryden

Happy the man, and happy he alone, He who can call today his own: He who, secure within, can say, Tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today.

So when the last and dreadful hour This crumbling pageant shall devour, The trumpet shall be heard on high, The dead shall live, the living die, And Music shall untune the sky

Great wits are sure to madness near allied, and thin partitions do their bounds divide.

But far more numerous was the herd of such, Who think too little, and who talk too much.

Secret guilt is by silence revealed.

It is easier to forgive an enemy than to forgive a friend.

When I consider Life, 'tis all a cheat; Yet, fooled 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 possesst.

I strongly wish for what I faintly hope; like the daydreams of melancholy men, I think and think in things impossible, yet love to wander in that golden maze.

Look round the habitable world, how few Know their own good, or, knowing it, pursue!

Dancing is the poetry of the foot.

Love is love's reward.

Welcome, thou kind deceiver! Thou best of thieves: who, with an easy key, Dost open life, and, unperceived by us, Even steal us from ourselves.

Boldness is a mask for fear, however great.

Must I at length the Sword of Justice draw? Oh curst Effects of necessary Law! How ill my Fear they by my Mercy scan, Beware the Fury of a Patient Man.

For you may palm upon us new for old: All, as they say, that glitters, is not gold.

Where'e're I go, my Soul shall stay with thee: 'Tis but my Shadow I take away...

Order is the greatest grace

Night came, but unattended with repose. Alone she came, no sleep their eyes to close. Alone and black she came; no friendly stars arose.

Rhyme is the rock on which thou art to wreck.

In God 'tis glory: And when men aspire, 'Tis but a spark too much of heavenly fire.

Like pilgrims to th' appointed place we tend; The World's an Inn, and Death the journey's end.

What passions cannot music raise or quell?

Great wits are sure to madness near allied, and thin partitions do their bounds divide.

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