But love's a malady without a cure. John Dryden on love
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. John Dryden on money
Beware the fury of a patient man. John Dryden on patience
Dancing is the poetry of the foot. John Dryden on poetry
For truth has such a face and such a mien, as to be loved needs only to be seen. John Dryden on truth
Accurst ambition, how dearly I have bought you. John Dryden on ambition
A knock-down argument; 'tis but a word and a blow. John Dryden on argument
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. John Dryden on beauty
Honor is but an empty bubble. John Dryden on honor
Love is a passion which kindles honor into noble acts. John Dryden on passion
Beware the fury of a patient man. John Dryden on patience
Dancing is the poetry of the feet. John Dryden on poetry
When he spoke, what tender words he used! So softly, that like flakes of feathered snow, They melted as they fell. John Dryden on speech