John Dryden Quotes

I am sore wounded but not slain
I will lay me down and bleed a while
And then rise up to fight again

A brave man scorns to quarrel once a day;
Like Hectors in at every petty fray.

Wit will shine
Through the harsh cadence of a rugged line.

Yet if a Poem have a Genius, it will force its own reception in the World.

And, dying, bless the hand that gave the blow.

So softly death succeeded life in her,
She did but dream of heaven, and she was there.

Here lies my wife: here let her lie!
Now she's at rest, and so am I.

Milton's Paradise Lost is admirable; but am I therefore bound to maintain, that there are no flats amongst his elevations, when it is evident he creeps along sometimes for above an hundred lines together? Cannot I admire the height of his invention, and the strength of his expression, without defending his antiquated words, and the perpetual harshness of their sound? It is as much commendation as a man can bear, to own him excellent; all beyond it is idolatry.

Not only hating David, but the king.

My next desire is, void of care and strife,
To lead a soft, secure, inglorious life:
A country cottage near a crystal flood,
A winding valley, and a lofty wood.

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.

So love with phantoms cheats our longing eyes,
Which hourly seeing never satisfies;
Our hands pull nothing from the parts they strain,
But wander o’er the lovely limbs in vain:
Nor when the youthful pair more closely join,
When hands in hands they lock, and thighs in thighs they twine,
Just in the raging foam of full desire,
When both press on, both murmur, both expire,
They gripe, they squeeze, their humid tongues they dart,
As each would force their way to t’other’s heart –
In vain; they only cruise about the coast,
For bodies cannot pierce, nor be in bodies lost.

Happy who in his verse can gently steer
From grave to light, from pleasant to severe.

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

Too black for heav'n, and yet too white for hell.