Quotes from John Dryden

Theirs was the giant race, before the flood.

Whate'er he did was done with so much ease,In him alone, 'twas natural to please.

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.

In pious times, ere priestcraft did begin,Before polygamy was made a sin.

Since heaven's eternal year is thine.

If you have lived, take thankfully the past.

A knockdown argument: 'tis but a word and a blow.

Successful crimes alone are justified.

For truth has such a face and such a mien, as to be loved needs only to be seen.

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.

Of all the tyrannies on human kindThe worst is that which persecutes the mind.

By viewing Nature, Nature's handmaid Art,Makes mighty things from small beginnings grow.

By education most have been misled So they believe, because they were bred. The priest continues where the nurse began, And thus the child imposes on the man.

T' abhor the makers, and their laws approve,Is to hate traitors and the treason love.

For present joys are more to flesh and bloodThan a dull prospect of a distant good.

Whistling to keep myself from being afraid.

Who think too little, and who talk too much.

Love is love's reward.

Three poets, in three distant ages born,Greece, Italy, and England did adorn.The first in loftiness of thought surpass'd;The next, in majesty; in both the last.The force of Nature could no further go.To make a third, she joined the former two.

She hugg'd the offender, and forgave the offense:Sex to the last.

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

Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry,In order to their stations leap,And Music's power obey.From harmony, from heavenly harmony,This universal frame began:From harmony to harmonyThrough all the compass of the notes it ran,The diapason closing full in Man.

And all to leave what with his toil he wonTo that unfeather'd two-legg'd thing, a son.

So over violent, or over civil,That every man with him was God or Devil.