Invention flags, his brain goes muddy, and black despair succeeds brown study.
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Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.
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Defer not till tomorrow to be wise, tomorrow's sun to thee may never rise.
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A hungry wolf at all the herd will run, In hopes, through many, to make sure of one
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Music hath charms to soothe a savage breast, To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.N.B. This quote is commonly misquoted as savage beast.
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'Tis well enough for a servant to be bred at an University. But the education is a little too pedantic for a gentleman.
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Music has charms to soothe the savage breast To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.
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In my conscience I believe the baggage loves me, for she never speaks well of me herself, nor suffers any body else to rail at me.
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I know that’s a secret, for it’s whispered everywhere.
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All ambitions are lawful except those which climb upward on the miseries or credulities of mankind.
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I hope you do not think me prone to an iteration of nuptials.
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Music hath charms to soothe a savage breast, To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak. N.B.: This quote is commonly misquoted as savage beast.
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Thus grief still treads upon the heels of pleasure: Married in haste, we may repent at leisure.
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Blessings ever wait on virtuous deeds, and though a late, a sure reward succeeds.
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He that first cries out stop thief, is often he that has stolen the treasure.
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Men are apt to offend ('tis true) where they find most goodness to forgive.
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For blessings ever wait on virtuous deeds, And though a late, a sure reward succeeds.
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Whom she refuses, she treats still / With so much sweet behaviour, / That her refusal, through her skill, / Looks almost like a favour.
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Every man plays the fool once in his lif marry is playing the fool all one's life, but to marry is to playing the fool all one's life long.
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I nauseate walking; 'tis a country diversion; I loathe the country
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Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.
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I came upstairs into the world for I was born in a cellar.
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You are all camphire and frankincense, all chastity and odour.
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Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned,
Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.
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In my conscience I believe the baggage loves me, for she never speaks well of me herself, nor suffers any body else to rail at me
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Courtship to marriage, as a very witty prologue to a very dull play.
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Music has charms to soothe the savage breast
To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.
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For 'tis some virtue, virtue to commend.
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For blessings ever wait on virtuous deeds,
And though a late, a sure reward succeeds.
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I came upstairs into the world; for I was born in a cellar.
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