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Affability, Mildness, Tenderness, And A Word Which I Would Fain Bring Back To Its Original Signification Of Virtue,--i Mean Good-nature,--are Of Daily Use; They Are The Bread Of Mankind And Staff Of Life.

-John Dryden

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Affability, Mildness, Tenderness, And

John Dryden

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Affability, Mildness, Tenderness, And A Word Which I Would Fain Bring Back To Its Original Signification Of Virtue,--i Mean Good-nature,--are Of Daily Use; They Are The Bread Of Mankind And Staff Of Life.

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When I Consider Life, It Is All A Cheat. Yet Fooled With Hope, People Favor This Deceit.

With Odorous Oil Thy Head And Hair Are Sleek; And Then Thou Kemb'st The Tuzzes On Thy Cheek: Of These, My Barbers Take A Costly Care.

Let Fortune Empty Her Whole Quiver On Me, I Have A Soul That, Like An Ample Shield, Can Take In All, And Verge Enough For More; Fate Was Not Mine, Nor Am I Fate's: Souls Know No Conquerors.

He Is The Very Janus Of Poets; He Wears Almost Everywhere Two Faces; And You Have Scarce Begun To Admire The One, Ere You Despise The Other.

Pains Of Love Be Sweeter Far Than All Other Pleasures Are.

An Hour Will Come, With Pleasure To Relate Your Sorrows Past, As Benefits Of Fate.

New Vows To Plight, And Plighted Vows To Break.

That, If The Gentiles, (whom No Law Inspir'd,) By Nature Did What Was By Law Requir'd; They, Who The Written Rule And Never Known, Were To Themselves Both Rule And Law Alone: To Natures Plain Indictment They Shall Plead; And, By Their Conscience, Be Condemn'd Or Freed.

Take Not Away The Life You Cannot Give: For All Things Have An Equal Right To Live.

Shame On The Body For Breaking Down While The Spirit Perseveres.

But 'tis The Talent Of Our English Nation, Still To Be Plotting Some New Reformation.

Drinking Is The Soldier's Pleasure.

If You Have Lived, Take Thankfully The Past. Make, As You Can, The Sweet Remembrance Last.

The Conscience Of A People Is Their Power.

Be Secret And Discreet; The Fairy Favors Are Lost When Not Concealed.

All Things Are Subject To Decay And When Fate Summons, Monarchs Must Obey.

Time And Death Shall Depart And Say In Flying Love Has Found Out A Way To Live, By Dying.

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.

Rhyme Is The Rock On Which Thou Art To Wreck.

The People Have A Right Supreme To Make Their Kings, For Kings Are Made For Them. All Empire Is No More Than Pow'r In Trust, Which When Resum'd, Can Be No Longer Just. Successionm For The General Good Design'd, In Its Own Wrong A Nation Cannot Bind.

Few Know The Use Of Life Before 'tis Past.

Love Reckons Hours For Months, And Days For Years; And Every Little Absence Is An Age.

Long Distance Relationship

And That One Hunting, Which The Devil Design'd For One Fair Female, Lost Him Half The Kind.

Bankrupt Of Life, Yet Prodigal Of Ease.

A Man Is To Be Cheated Into Passion, But To Be Reasoned Into Truth.

The Secret Pleasure Of A Generous Act Is The Great Mind's Great Bribe.

I Trade Both With The Living And The Dead, For The Enrichment Of Our Native Language.

Native Language

Death Only This Mysterious Truth Unfolds, The Mighty Soul How Small A Body Holds.

So Poetry, Which Is In Oxford Made An Art, In London Only Is A Trade.

Thou Spring'st A Leak Already In Thy Crown, A Flaw Is In Thy Ill-bak'd Vessel Found; 'tis Hollow, And Returns A Jarring Sound, Yet Thy Moist Clay Is Pliant To Command, Unwrought, And Easy To The Potter's Hand: Now Take The Mould; Now Bend Thy Mind To Feel The First Sharp Motions Of The Forming Wheel.

The Trumpet's Loud Clangor Excites Us To Arms.

Our Souls Sit Close And Silently Within, And Their Own Web From Their Own Entrails Spin; And When Eyes Meet Far Off, Our Sense Is Such, That, Spider-like, We Feel The Tenderest Touch.

Ev'n Wit's A Burthen, When It Talks Too Long.

Love Is A Passion Which Kindles Honor Into Noble Acts.

Confidence Is The Feeling We Have Before Knowing All The Facts

Calms Appear, When Storms Are Past; Love Will Have His Hour At Last: Nature Is My Kindly Care; Mars Destroys, And I Repair; Take Me, Take Me, While You May, Venus Comes Not Ev'ry Day.

For Art May Err, But Nature Cannot Miss.

For Every Inch That Is Not Fool, Is Rogue.

To Tame The Proud, The Fetter'd Slave To Free, These Are Imperial Arts.

For Secrets Are Edged Tools, And Must Be Kept From Children And From Fools.

If One Must Be Rejected, One Succeed, Make Him My Lord Within Whose Faithful Breast Is Fixed My Image, And Who Loves Me Best.

Some Of Our Philosophizing Divines Have Too Much Exalted The Faculties Of Our Souls, When They Have Maintained That By Their Force Mankind Has Been Able To Find Out God.

How Blessed Is He, Who Leads A Country Life, Unvex'd With Anxious Cares, And Void Of Strife! Who Studying Peace, And Shunning Civil Rage, Enjoy'd His Youth, And Now Enjoys His Age: All Who Deserve His Love, He Makes His Own; And, To Be Lov'd Himself, Needs Only To Be Known.

Every Language Is So Full Of Its Own Proprieties That What Is Beautiful In One Is Often Barbarous, Nay, Sometimes Nonsense, In Another.

Among Our Crimes Oblivion May Be Set.

From Harmony, From Heav'nly Harmony. This Universal Frame Began.

Beware The Fury Of A Patient Man.

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.

Dancing Is The Poetry Of The Foot.

A Knock-down Argument; 'tis But A Word And A Blow.

Freedom Which In No Other Land Will Thrive, Freedom An English Subject's Sole Prerogative.

He Who Proposes To Be An Author Should First Be A Student.

To Take Up Half On Trust, And Half To Try, Name It Not Faith But Bungling Bigotry.

There Is An Inimitable Grace In Virgil's Words, And In Them Principally Consists That Beauty Which Gives So Inexpressible A Pleasure To Him Who Best Understands Their Force. This Diction Of His, I Must Once Again Say, Is Never To Be Copied; And Since It Cannot, He Will Appear But Lame In The Best Translation.

The World To Bacon Does Not Only Owe It's Present Knowledge, But Its Future Too.

Like Pilgrims To Th' Appointed Place We Tend; The World's An Inn, And Death The Journey's End.

Ill News Is Wing'd With Fate, And Flies Apace.

Sculptors Are Obliged To Follow The Manners Of The Painters, And To Make Many Ample Folds, Which Are Unsufferable Hardness, And More Like A Rock Than A Natural Garment.

To Die For Faction Is A Common Evil, But To Be Hanged For Nonsense Is The Devil.

Tomorrow Do Thy Worst, For I Have Lived Today: Be Fair Or Foul Or Rain Or Shine, The Joys I Have Possessed In Spite Of Fate Are Mine. Not Heaven Itself Upon The Past Has Power; But What Has Been Has Been, And I Have Had My Hour.

I Maintain, Against The Enemies Of The Stage, That Patterns Of Piety, Decently Represented, May Second The Precepts.

Men Are But Children Of A Larger Growth, Our Appetites As Apt To Change As Theirs, And Full As Craving Too, And Full As Vain.

Death Ends Our Woes, And The Kind Grave Shuts Up The Mournful Scene.

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.

Self-defense Is Nature's Eldest Law.

[t]he Famous Rules Which The French Call, Des Trois Unitez , Or, The Three Unities, Which Ought To Be Observ'd In Every Regular Play; Namely, Of Time, Place, And Action.

Pleasure Never Comes Sincere To Man; But Lent By Heaven Upon Hard Usury.

We Must Beat The Iron While It Is Hot, But We May Polish It At Leisure.

My Hands Are Guilty, But My Heart Is Free.

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.

They First Condemn That First Advised The Ill.

Thoughts Cannot Form Themselves In Words So Horrid As Can Express My Guilt.

Satire Among The Romans, But Not Among The Greeks, Was A Bitter Invective Poem.

It's A Hard World, Neighbors, If A Man's Oath Must Be His Master.

Ye Moon And Stars, Bear Witness To The Truth.

Light Sufferings Give Us Leisure To Complain.

To Breed Up The Son To Common Sense Is Evermore The Parent's Least Expense.

Errors Like Straws Upon The Surface Flow, Who Would Search For Pearls To Be Grateful For Often Must Dive Below.

More Liberty Begets Desire Of More; The Hunger Still Increases With The Store

Roused By The Lash Of His Own Stubborn Tail Our Lion Now Will Foreign Foes Assail.

When The Sun Sets, Shadows, That Shew'd At Noon But Small, Appear Most Long And Terrible; So, When We Think Fate Hovers O'er Our Heads, Our Apprehensions Shoot Beyond All Bounds, Owls, Ravens, Crickets Seem The Watch Of Death, Nature's Worst Vermine Scare Her God-like Sons. Ecchoes The Very Leavings Of A Voice, Grow Babling Ghosts, And Call Us To Our Graves: Each Mole-hill Thought Swells To A Huge Olympus, While We Fantastick Dreamers Heave And Puff, And Sweat With An Imagination's Weight.

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.

The Sooner You Treat Your Son As A Man, The Sooner He Will Be One.

One Cannot Say He Wanted Wit, But Rather That He Was Frugal Of It.

No Government Has Ever Been, Or Can Ever Be, Wherein Time-servers And Blockheads Will Not Be Uppermost.

And, Dying, Bless The Hand That Gave The Blow.

Ill Writers Are Usually The Sharpest Censors.

Swift Was The Race, But Short The Time To Run.

An Ugly Woman In A Rich Habit Set Out With Jewels Nothing Can Become.

I'm A Little Wounded, But I Am Not Slain; I Will Lay Me Down To Bleed A While. Then I'll Rise And Fight Again.

Sure There's Contagion In The Tears Of Friends.

Her Wit Was More Than Man, Her Innocence A Child.

Humility And Resignation Are Our Prime Virtues.

Fortune Confounds The Wise, And When They Least Expect It Turns The Dice.

The Wretched Have No Friends.

Silence In Times Of Suffering Is The Best.

By Education Most Have Been Misled.

Ah, How Sweet It Is To Love! Ah, How Gay Is Young Desire! And What Pleasing Pains We Prove When We First Approach Love's Fire!

There Is A Pleasure In Being Mad, Which None But Madmen Know.

Fiction Is Of The Essence Of Poetry As Well As Of Painting; There Is A Resemblance In One Of Human Bodies, Things, And Actions Which Are Not Real, And In The Other Of A True Story By Fiction.

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.

Every Age Has A Kind Of Universal Genius, Which Inclines Those That Live In It To Some Particular Studies.

Only Man Clogs His Happiness With Care, Destroying What Is With Thoughts Of What May Be.

Anxious Thoughts

They, Who Would Combat General Authority With Particular Opinion, Must First Establish Themselves A Reputation Of Understanding Better Than Other Men.

Love Is A Child That Talks In Broken Language, Yet Then He Speaks Most Plain.

When Misfortune Is Asleep, Let No One Wake Her.

Who Climbs The Grammar-tree, Distinctly Knows Where Noun, And Verb, And Participle Grows.

A Lazy Frost, A Numbness Of The Mind.

For Truth Has Such A Face And Such A Mien, As To Be Loved Needs Only To Be Seen.

Take The Good The Gods Provide Thee.

Men's Virtues I Have Commended As Freely As I Have Taxed Their Crimes.

Good Sense And Good-nature Are Never Separated, Though The Ignorant World Has Thought Otherwise. Good-nature, By Which I Mean Beneficence And Candor, Is The Product Of Right Reason.

And After Hearing What Our Church Can Say, If Still Our Reason Runs Another Way, That Private Reason 'tis More Just To Curb, Than By Disputes The Public Peace Disturb; For Points Obscure Are Of Small Use To Learn, But Common Quiet Is Mankind's Concern.

Men Are But Children Of A Larger Growth.

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.

I Have A Soul That Like An Ample Shield Can Take In All, And Verge Enough For More.

Old Age Creeps On Us Ere We Think It Nigh.

These Are The Effects Of Doting Age,--vain Doubts And Idle Cares And Over Caution.

Rich The Treasure, Sweet The Pleasure,- Sweet Is Pleasure After Pain.

In Pious Times, Ere Priest-craft Did Begin, Before Polygamy Was Made A Sin; When Man, On Many, Multipli'd His Kind, Ere One To One Was Cursedly Confin'd: When Nature Prompted, And No Law Deni'd Promiscuous Use Of Concubine And Bride; Then, Israel's Monarch, After Heaven's Own Heart, His Vigorous Warmth Did Variously Impart To Wives And Slaves: And, Wide As His Command, Scatter'd His Maker's Image Through The Land.

We Find Few Historians Who Have Been Diligent Enough In Their Search For Truth; It Is Their Common Method To Take On Trust What They Help Distribute To The Public; By Which Means A Falsehood Once Received From A Famed Writer Becomes Traditional To Posterity.

Much Malice Mingled With A Little Wit Perhaps May Censure This Mysterious Writ.

Genius Must Be Born, And Never Can Be Taught.

When Bounteous Autumn Rears Her Head, He Joys To Pull The Ripened Pear.

Those Who Write Ill, And They Who Ne'er Durst Write, Turn Critics Out Of Mere Revenge And Spite.

Not To Ask Is Not Be Denied.

Possess Your Soul With Patience.

Trust Reposed In Noble Natures Obliges Them The More.

Let Cheerfulness On Happy Fortune Wait.

Love Is Not In Our Choice But In Our Fate.

The Gods, (if Gods To Goodness Are Inclined If Acts Of Mercy Touch Their Heavenly Mind), And, More Than All The Gods, Your Generous Heart, Conscious Of Worth, Requite Its Own Desert!

Doeg, Though Without Knowing How Or Why, Made 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.

Here Lies My Wife: Here Let Her Lie! Now She's At Rest, And So Am I.

A Woman's Counsel Brought Us First To Woe, And Made Her Man His Paradise Forego, Where At Heart's Ease He Liv'd; And Might Have Been As Free From Sorrow As He Was From Sin.

Words Are But Pictures Of Our Thoughts.

Old As I Am, For Ladies' Love Unfit, The Power Of Beauty I Remember Yet.

Imitation Pleases, Because It Affords Matter For Inquiring Into The Truth Or Falsehood Of Imitation, By Comparing Its Likeness Or Unlikeness With The Original.

Maintain Your Post: That's All The Fame You Need; For 'tis Impossible You Should Proceed.

Or Hast Thou Known The World So Long In Vain?

Happy, Happy, Happy Pair! None But The Brave Deserves The Fair.

God Never Made His Work For Man To Mend.

Is It Not Evident, In These Last Hundred Years (when The Study Of Philosophy Has Been The Business Of All The Virtuosi In Christendome) That Almost A New Nature Has Been Revealed To Us? That More Errours Of The School Have Been Detected, More Useful Experiments In Philosophy Have Been Made, More Noble Secrets In Opticks, Medicine, Anatomy, Astronomy, Discover'd, Than In All Those Credulous And Doting Ages From Aristotle To Us? So True It Is That Nothing Spreads More Fast Than Science, When Rightly And Generally Cultivated.

Thus, While The Mute Creation Downward Bend Their Sight, And To Their Earthly Mother Ten, Man Looks Aloft; And With Erected Eyes Beholds His Own Hereditary Skies.

Then We Upon Our Globe's Last Verge Shall Go, And View The Ocean Leaning On The Sky: From Thence Our Rolling Neighbours We Shall Know, And On The Lunar World Securely Pry.

The Scum That Rises Upmost, When The Nation Boils.

The Unhappy Man, Who Once Has Trail'd A Pen, Lives Not To Please Himself, But Other Men; Is Always Drudging, Wastes His Life And Blood, Yet Only Eats And Drinks What You Think Good.

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.

Love Works A Different Way In Different Minds, The Fool It Enlightens And The Wise It Blinds.

He Who Trusts Secrets To A Servant Makes Him His Master

Keeping Secrets

Want Is A Bitter And A Hateful Good, Because Its Virtues Are Not Understood; Yet Many Things, Impossible To Thought, Have Been By Need To Full Perfection Brought. The Daring Of The Soul Proceeds From Thence, Sharpness Of Wit, And Active Diligence; Prudence At Once, And Fortitude It Gives; And, If In Patience Taken, Mends Our Lives.

When He Spoke, What Tender Words He Used! So Softly, That Like Flakes Of Feathered Snow, They Melted As They Fell.

Men Met Each Other With Erected Look, The Steps Were Higher That They Took; Friends To Congratulate Their Friends Made Haste, And Long Inveterate Foes Saluted As They Pass'd.

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.

The Thought Of Being Nothing After Death Is A Burden Insupportable To A Virtuous Man.

Order Is The Greatest Grace.

When I Consider Life, 'tis All A Cheat; Yet, Fooled With Hope, Men Favour The Deceit; Trust On, And Think Tomorrow Will Repay. Tomorrow's Falser Than The Former Day.

All Flowers Will Droop In The Absence Of The Sun That Waked Their Sweets.

Time Glides With Undiscover'd Haste; The Future But A Length Behind The Past.

Imagining Is In Itself The Very Height And Life Of Poetry, Which, By A Kind Of Enthusiasm Or Extraordinary Emotion Of The Soul, Makes It Seem To Us That We Behold Those Things Which The Poet Paints.

All Authors To Their Own Defects Are Blind.

He Made All Countries Where He Came His Own.

Repartee Is The Soul Of Conversation.

Present Joys Are More To Flesh And Blood Than A Dull Prospect Of A Distant Good.

If We From Wealth To Poverty Descend, Want Gives To Know The Flatterer From The Friend.

Successful Crimes Alone Are Justified.

Dead Men Tell No Tales.

Inspire The Vocal Brass, Inspire; The World Is Past Its Infant Age: Arms And Honour, Arms And Honour, Set The Martial Mind On Fire, And Kindle Manly Rage.

If Thou Dost Still Retain The Same Ill Habits, The Same Follies, Too, Still Thou Art Bound To Vice, And Still A Slave.

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.

Go Miser Go, For Money Sell Your Soul. Trade Wares For Wares And Trudge From Pole To Pole, So Others May Say When You Are Dead And Gone. See What A Vast Estate He Left His Son.

Criticism Is Now Become Mere Hangman's Work, And Meddles Only With The Faults Of Authors ; Nay, The Critic Is Disgusted Less With Their Absurdities Than Excellence ; And You Cannot Displease Him More Than In Leaving Him Little Room For His Malice.

Damn'd Neuters, In Their Middle Way Of Steering, Are Neither Fish, Nor Flesh, Nor Good Red Herring.

Courage From Hearts And Not From Numbers Grows.

Virtue In Distress, And Vice In Triumph Make Atheists Of Mankind.

Reason Saw Not, Till Faith Sprung The Light.

Home Is The Sacred Refuge Of Our Life.

You See Through Love, And That Deludes Your Sight, As What Is Straight Seems Crooked Through The Water.

Nor Is The People's Judgment Always True: The Most May Err As Grossly As The Few.

Democracies Have

A Happy Genius Is The Gift Of Nature.

Great Souls Forgive Not Injuries Till Time Has Put Their Enemies Within Their Power, That They May Show Forgiveness Is Their Own.

As One That Neither Seeks, Nor Shuns His Foe.

The Poorest Of The Sex Have Still An Itch To Know Their Fortunes, Equal To The Rich. The Dairy-maid Inquires, If She Shall Take The Trusty Tailor, And The Cook Forsake.

For Mysterious Things Of Faith, Rely On The Proponent, Heaven's Authority.

Mysterious Things

Tis Fate That Flings The Dice, And As She Flings Of Kings Makes Peasants, And Of Peasants Kings.

Let Grace And Goodness Be The Principal Loadstone Of Thy Affections. For Love Which Hath Ends, Will Have An End; Whereas That Which Is Founded On True Virtue, Will Always Continue.

It Is Sufficient To Say, According To The Proverb, That Here Is God's Plenty.

Affability, Mildness, Tenderness, And A Word Which I Would Fain Bring Back To Its Original Signification Of Virtue,--i Mean Good-nature,--are Of Daily Use; They Are The Bread Of Mankind And Staff Of Life.

Reason To Rule, Mercy To Forgive: The First Is Law, The Last Prerogative. Life Is An Adventure In Forgiveness.

They Live Too Long Who Happiness Outlive.

It Is Almost Impossible To Translate Verbally And Well At The Same Time; For The Latin (a Most Severe And Compendious Language) Often Expresses That In One Word Which Either The Barbarity Or The Narrowness Of Modern Tongues Cannot Supply In More. ...but Since Every Language Is So Full Of Its Own Proprieties That What Is Beautiful In One Is Often Barbarous, Nay, Sometimes Nonsense, In Another, It Would Be Unreasonable To Limit A Translator To The Narrow Compass Of His Author's Words; It Is Enough If He Choose Out Some Expression Which Does Not Vitiate The Sense.

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.

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.

Jealousy Is The Jaundice Of The Soul.

The Longest Tyranny That Ever Sway'd Was That Wherein Our Ancestors Betray'd Their Free-born Reason To The Stagirite [aristotle], And Made His Torch Their Universal Light. So Truth, While Only One Suppli'd The State, Grew Scarce, And Dear, And Yet Sophisticate.

The Bravest Men Are Subject Most To Chance.

For All The Happiness Mankind Can Gain Is Not In Pleasure, But In Rest From Pain.

What Passion Cannot Music Raise And Quell!

Mere Poets Are Sottish As Mere Drunkards Are, Who Live In A Continual Mist, Without Seeing Or Judging Anything Clearly. A Man Should Be Learned In Several Sciences, And Should Have A Reasonable, Philosophical And In Some Measure A Mathematical Head, To Be A Complete And Excellent Poet.

Youth, Beauty, Graceful Action Seldom Fail: But Common Interest Always Will Prevail; And Pity Never Ceases To Be Shown To Him Who Makes The People's Wrongs His Own.

Riches Cannot Rescue From The Grave, Which Claims Alike The Monarch And The Slave.

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