18 quotes
The world is made up, for the most part, of fools and knaves, both irreconcileable foes to truth.
A mans fame and hayre grow most after death, and are both equally uselesse.
What a Devil is the Plot good for, but to bring in fine things?
The Rehearsal (1671)
Ay, now the Plot thickens very much upon us.
The Rehearsal (1671)
There are few have Dana's fortune, to have God and gold togather.
The world's a wood, in which all lose their way,
Though by a different path each goes astray.
All these threatening storms, which, like impregnate Clouds, hover o'er our heads, will (when they once are grasp'd but by the eye of reason) melt into fruitful showers of blessings on the people.
The Rehearsal (1671)
I drink, I huff, I strut, look big and stare;
And all this I can do, because I dare.
The Rehearsal (1671)
Kisses are but like sands of gold and silver, found upon the ground which are not worth much themselves but as they promise a mine near too be dig'd.
She that would raise a noble love must find
Ways to beget a passion for her mind;
She must be that which she to the world would seem,
For all true love is grounded on esteem:
Plainness and truth gain more a generous heart
Than all the crooked subtleties of art.
O! what a prodigal have I been of that most valuable of all possessions — Time!
A Lady that was drown'd at Sea, and had a wave for her Winding sheet.
The Rehearsal (1671)
Our Poets make us laugh at Tragœdy,
And with their Comoedies they make us cry.
The Rehearsal (1671)
Methinks, I see the wanton houres flee,
And as they passe, turne back and laugh at me.
The Encyclopædia Britannica (1910)
The blackest Ink of Fate, sure, was my Lot,
And, when she writ my Name, she made a blot.
The Rehearsal (1671)
We might well call this short Mock-play of ours
A Posie made of Weeds instead of Flowers;
Yet such have been presented to your noses,
And there are such, I fear, who thought 'em Roses.
The Rehearsal (1671)
Make my breast
Transparent as pure crystal, that the world,
Jealous of me, may see the foulest thought
My heart holds.
Misattributed
Nature's chief masterpiece is writing well.
Misattributed