Quotes from John Dryden

Self-defence is Nature's eldest law.

The winds that never moderation knew, Afraid to blow too much, too faintly blew; Or out of breath with joy, could not enlarge Their straighten'd lungs or conscious of their charge.

Love is a passion which kindles honor into noble acts.

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

Hati-hati terhadap kemarahan orang yang penyabar.

For whatsoe'er their sufferings were before, That change they covet makes them suffer more. All other errors but disturb a state; But innovation is the blow of fate.

words are but pictures of our thoughts

None are so busy as the fool and knave.

To die is landing on some distant shore.

Whence but from heaven, could men unskilled in arts, In several ages born, in several parts, Weave such agreeing truths? Or how, or why, Should all conspire to cheat us with a lie?

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

Whatever is, is in its causes just; But purblind man Sees but a part o' th' chain; the nearest link; His eyes not carrying to that equal beam That poises all above.

Dim as the borrowed beams of moons and stars To lonely, weary, wandering travelers, Is Reason to the soul; and, as on high Those rolling fires discover but the sky, Not light us here, so Reason's glimmering ray Was lent, not to assure our doubtful way, But guide us upward to a better day.

Of no distemper, of no blast he died, But fell like autumn fruit that mellowed long — Even wondered at, because he dropped no sooner. Fate seemed to wind him up for fourscore years, Yet freshly ran he on ten winters more; Till like a clock worn out with eating time, The wheels of weary life at last stood still.

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

Tis Fate that flings the dice, And as she flings Of kings makes peasants, And of peasants kings.

Those who write ill, and they who ne'er durst write, Turn critics out of mere revenge and spite.

The gates of Hell are open night and day Smooth the descent, and easy is the way But, to return, and view the cheerful skies In this, the task and mighty labor lies.

Roused by the lash of his own stubborn tail, Our lion now will foreign foes assail.

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.

If others in the same Glass better see 'Tis for Themselves they look, but not for me: For my Salvation must its Doom receive Not from what others, but what I believe.

Thus like a Captive in an Isle confin'd, Man walks at large, a Pris'ner of the Mind

When I consider life, 't is 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.

Dreams are but interludes, which fancy makes; When monarch reason sleeps, this mimic wakes.