John Dryden Quotes

All rivers, even the most dazzling, those that catch the sun in their course, all rivers go down to the ocean and drown. And life awaits man as the sea awaits the river.

The glories of our blood and state, Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no armour against fate, Death lays his icy hand on kings. Scepter and crown must tumble down, And, in the dust, be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.

Must not all things at the last be swallowed up in death?

I don't fear death. If it happens, it was meant to happen.

Luck can't last a lifetime unless you die young.

SOONER OR LATER ALL MEN MUST DIE. EVERYTHING DIES IN THE END. I CAN BE ROBBED BUT NEVER DENIED, I TOLD MYSELF. WHY WORRY? “I too cannot be cheated,” snapped Fate.

When my mouth shall be filled with dust, and the worm shall feed, and feed sweetly upon me, when the ambitious man shall have no satisfaction if the poorest alive tread upon him, nor the poorest receive any contentment in being made equal to princes, for they shall be equal but in dust.

We do not ask to be born; and we do not ask to die. But born we are and die we must. We come into existence and we pass out of existence. And in neither case does high-handed fate await our ratification of its decree.

I wonder what day I shall die on - one passes year by year over one's death day, as one might pass over one's grave.

The Rebel bullet that can kill me has not yet been molded.

Well, there's a remedy for all things but death, which will be sure to lay us flat one time or other.

Time is the king of all men, he is their parent and their grave, and gives them what he will and not what they crave.

Among all the vicissitudes of life, which vary in each individual's experience, there is one event which sooner or later comes to everyone - Death!

Despise not death, but welcome it, for nature wills it like all else.

Time brings all things to pass.

Nothing is the destiny of everyone, it is our commonness made dumb.

You can't be scared of death. When that time comes, it comes.

Why should I ask the wise men: Whence is my beginning? I am busy with the thought: Where will be my end?

All things are only transitory.

I mean, whatever kills you kills you, and your death is authentic no matter how you die.

My mission is to kill time, and time's to kill me in its turn. How comfortable one is among murderers.

No one can outrun death. It will catch up to all of us eventually.

The world rolls round forever like a mill; it grinds out death and life and good and ill; it has no purpose, heart or mind or will.

Life is tragic simply because the earth turns and the sun inexorably rises and sets, and one day, for each of us, the sun will go down for the last, last time.

In this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes.