Джон Драйден цитаты

страница 2

„Сначала мы создаем свои привычки, а потом наши привычки создают нас.“

„Остерегайтесь гнева терпеливого человека.“

„Не хочешь услышать отказа — не проси.“

„Хорошо выраженная мысль звучит умно на всех языках.“

„Все привычки копятся постепенно и незаметно, как ручьи образуют реки, а реки изливаются в море.“

„Любовь — это награда любви.“

„Честь женщины подобна горностаю: от малейшего прикосновения тускнеет ее белизна.“

„Произведение живописи, не следующее канонам природы, становится гротеском.“

„Только успешные преступления находят оправдание.“

„Разница между языками столь велика, что одно и то же выражение кажется грубым в одном языке и возвышенным в другом.“

„Просто поэты так же глупы, как просто пьяницы, которые живут в постоянном тумане, ничего не видя, ни о чем не судя ясно. Человеку нужно знать несколько наук, он должен иметь разумную, философскую, а в какой-то мере и математическую голову для того, чтобы стать полноценным и отличным поэтом…“

“The trumpet shall be heard on high,
The dead shall live, the living die,
And musick shall untune the Sky.”

“Secret guilt by silence is betrayed.”

“But far more numerous was the herd of such,
Who think too little, and who talk too much.”

“What passion cannot Music raise and quell?”

“The trumpet's loud clangor
Excites us to arms.”

“She hugged the offender, and forgave the offense:
Sex to the last.”

“Jealousy, the jaundice of the soul.”

“Pains of love be sweeter far
Than all other pleasures are.”

“With all this bulk there's nothing lost in Og,
For every inch that is not fool is rogue :
A monstrous mass of fuul corrupted matter,
As all the devils had spew'd to make the baiter.
When wine has given him courage to blaspheme,
He curses God, but God before curst him;
And, if man could have reason, none has more.
That made his paunch so rich, and him so poor.”

“Your ignorance is the mother of your devotion to me.”

“Thespis, the first professor of our art,
At country wakes sung ballads from a cart.”

“Joy rul'd the day, and Love the night.”

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

“Lord of yourself, uncumbered with a wife.”

“And, like another Helen, fir'd another Troy.”

“T' abhor the makers, and their laws approve,
Is to hate traitors and the treason love.”

“All, all of a piece throughout:
Thy chase had a beast in view;
Thy wars brought nothing about;
Thy lovers were all untrue.
'Tis well an old age is out,
And time to begin a new.”

“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.”

“Like you, an alien in a land unknown,
I learn to pity woes so like my own.”

“Above any Greek or Roman name.”

“… not judging truth to be in nature better than falsehood, but setting a value upon both according to interest.”

“Dim as the borrowed beams of moon and stars
To lonely, weary, wandering travellers
Is reason to the soul; and as on high
Those rolling fires discover but the sky
Not light us here, so reason's glimmering ray
Was lent, not to assure our doubtful way,
But guide us upward to a better day:
And as those nightly tapers disappear
When day's bright lord ascends our hemisphere,
So pale grows reason at religion's sight,
So dies, and so dissolves in supernatural light.”

“Can heav'nly minds such high resentment show,
Or exercise their spite in human woe?”

“So over violent, or over civil,
That every man with him was God or Devil.”

“The rest to some faint meaning make pretense,
But Shadwell never deviates into sense.
Some beams of wit on other souls may fall,
Strike through and make a lucid interval;
But Shadwell's genuine night admits no ray,
His rising fogs prevail upon the day.”

“Of no distemper, of no blast he died,
But fell like autumn fruit that mellowed long —
Even wondered at, because he dropped no sooner.
Fate seemed to wind him up for fourscore years,
Yet freshly ran he on ten winters more;
Till like a clock worn out with eating time,
The wheels of weary life at last stood still.”

“Nor can his blessed soul look down from heaven,
Or break the eternal sabbath of his rest.”

“By viewing Nature, Nature's handmaid Art,
Makes mighty things from small beginnings grow.”

“The wrath of Peleus' son, O Muse, resound;
Whose dire effects the Grecian army found,
And many a hero, king, and hardy knight,
Were sent, in early youth, to shades of night.”