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.
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.
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.
A brave world, sir, full of religion, knavery, and change: we shall shortly see better days.
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.
time lessens all extremes and reduces 'em to mediums and unconcern ...
There is no sinner like a young saint.
Where there is no novelty, there can be no curiosity.
Faith, Sir, we are here today and gone tomorrow.
God makes all things good; Man meddles with 'em and they become evil.
Love ceases to be a pleasure, when it ceases to be a secret.
Who is't that to woman's beauty would submit,
And yet refuse the fetters of their wit?
Patience is a flatterer, sir, and an ass, sir.
Here lies a Proof that Wit can never be Defence enough against Mortality
Nothing is more capable of troubling our reason, and consuming our health, than secret notions of jealousy in solitude.
Money speaks sense in a language all nations understand.
Come away; poverty's catching.
Jealousy, the old worm that bites.
No friend to Love like a long voyage at sea.
Love, like reputation, once fled, never returns more.
Oh, what a dear ravishing thing is the beginning of an Amour!
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