John Dryden (/ˈdraɪdən/; 19 August [O.S. 9 August] 1631 – 12 May [O.S. 1 May] 1700) was an English poet, literary critic, translator, and playwright who was made England's first Poet Laureate in 1668.
Like pilgrims to th' appointed place we tend; The World's an Inn, and Death the journey's end.
The sooner you treat your son as a man, the sooner he will be one.
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.
Beauty is nothing else but a just accord and mutual harmony of the members, animated by a healthful constitution.
Maintain your post: That's all the fame you need; For 'tis impossible you should proceed.
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.
Reason to rule, mercy to forgive: The first is law, the last prerogative. Life is an adventure in forgiveness.
Not Heav'n itself upon the past has pow'r; But what has been, has been, and I have had my hour.
Be secret and discreet; the fairy favors are lost when not concealed.
All authors to their own defects are blind.
Imitators are but a servile kind of cattle.
You see through love, and that deludes your sight, As what is straight seems crooked through the water.
If by the people you understand the multitude, the hoi polloi, 'tis no matter what they think; they are sometimes in the right, sometimes in the wrong; their judgment is a mere lottery.
not judging truth to be in nature better than falsehood, but setting a value upon both according to interest.
The winds are out of breath.
Let those find fault whose wit's so very small, They've need to show that they can think at all; Errors, like straws, upon the surface flow; He who would search for pearls, must dive below. Fops may have leave to level all they can; As pigmies would be glad to lop a man. Half-wits are fleas; so little and so light, We scarce could know they live, but that they bite.
They think too little who talk too much.
For Art may err, but Nature cannot miss.
A coward is the kindest animal; 'Tis the most forgiving creature in a fight.
A knock-down argument; 'tis but a word and a blow.