718 Quotes by John Dryden

He with a graceful pride, While his rider every hand survey’d, Sprung loose, and flew into an escapade; Not moving forward, yet with every bound Pressing, and seeming still to quit his ground.

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!

And he, who servilely creeps after sense, Is safe, but ne’er will reach an excellence.

Woman’s honor is nice as ermine; it will not bear a soil.

My love’s a noble madness.

Joy rul’d the day, and Love the night.

Government itself at length must fall To nature’s state, where all have right to all.

What precious drops are those, Which silently each other’s track pursue, Bright as young diamonds in their faint dew?

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.