That perfect tranquillity of life, which is nowhere to be found but in retreat, a faithful friend and a good library.
All I ask, is the privilege for my masculine part the poet in me.... If I must not, because of my sex, have this freedom... I lay down my quill and you shall hear no more of me.
Each moment of a happy lover's hour is worth an age of dull and common life.
Variety is the soul of pleasure.
A poet is a painter in his way, he draws to the life, but in another kind; we draw the nobler part, the soul and the mind; the pictures of the pen shall outlast those of the pencil, and even worlds themselves.
I think a Play the best divertisement that wise men have: but I do also think them nothing so who do discourse so formallie about the rules of it, as if 'twere the grand affair of humane life.
Faith, Sir, we are here today and gone tomorrow.
Money speaks sense in a language all nations understand.
There is no sinner like a young saint.
Fantastic fortune thou deceitful light, That cheats the weary traveler by night, Though on a precipice each step you tread, I am resolved to follow where you lead.
Where there is no novelty, there can be no curiosity.
time lessens all extremes and reduces 'em to mediums and unconcern ...
Of all that writ, he was the wisest bard, who spoke this mighty truth- He that knew all that ever learning writ, Knew only this-that he knew nothing yet.
Oh, what a dear ravishing thing is the beginning of an Amour!
Kings that made laws, first broke 'em ...
As love is the most noble and divine passion of the soul, so is it that to which we may justly attribute all the real satisfactions of life, and without it, man is unfinished, and unhappy.
Love ceases to be a pleasure, when it ceases to be a secret.
A brave world, sir, full of religion, knavery, and change: we shall shortly see better days.
God makes all things good; Man meddles with 'em and they become evil.
Here lies a Proof that Wit can never be Defence enough against Mortality
Patience is a flatterer, sir, and an ass, sir.
Who is't that to woman's beauty would submit,
And yet refuse the fetters of their wit?
Nothing is more capable of troubling our reason, and consuming our health, than secret notions of jealousy in solitude.
Come away; poverty's catching.
'Twas but a dream, yet by my heart I knew, Which still was panting, part of it was true: Oh how I strove the rest to have believed; Ashamed and angry to be undeceived!
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