John Dryden

A man so various, that he seem'd to be
Not one, but all mankind's epitome;
Stiff in read more

A man so various, that he seem'd to be
Not one, but all mankind's epitome;
Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong.
Was everything by starts, and nothing long;
But in the course of one revolving moon,
Was chymist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon.

The habit does not make the monk.
[Lat., Cucullus (or Cuculla) non facit monachum.]

The habit does not make the monk.
[Lat., Cucullus (or Cuculla) non facit monachum.]

Jealousy is the jaundice of the soul.

Jealousy is the jaundice of the soul.

Doeg, though without knowing how or why,
Made a still a blundering kind of melody;
Spurr'd boldly read more

Doeg, though without knowing how or why,
Made a still a blundering kind of melody;
Spurr'd boldly on, and dash'd through thick and thin,
Through sense and nonsense, never out nor in;
Free from all meaning whether good or bad,
And in one word, heroically mad.

They who write ill, and they who ne'er durst write,
Turn critics out of mere revenge and spite.

They who write ill, and they who ne'er durst write,
Turn critics out of mere revenge and spite.