I shall never forgive you for teaching me how to love life.
I have to speak my mind. Because what is in my mind is always more interesting than what is happening in the world outside my mind.
any experiment of interest in life will be carried out at your own expense
Now piercèd is her virgin zone; She feels the foe within it. She hears a broken amorous groan, The panting lover's fainting moan, Just in the happy minute.
God bless our good and gracious King, Whose promise none relies on; Who never said a foolish thing, Nor ever did a wise one.
The theatre is my drug. And my illness is so far advanced that my physic must be of the highest quality.
Envy is a passion so full of cowardice and shame that nobody ever had the confidence to own it.
It is a very good world to live in, To lend or to spend, or to live in; but to beg or to borrow, or to get a man's own, It is the very worst world that ever was known.
Before I married, I had three theories about raising children and no children. Now, I have three children and no theories.
Most Men are Cowards, all Men should be Knaves.
The Difference lies, as far as I can see,
Not in the thing it self, but the Degree.
Thus, statesmanlike, I'll saucily impose,
And safe from action, valiantly advise;
Sheltered in impotence, urge you to blows,
And being good for nothing else, be wise.
Tis a meaner part of sense to find a fault than taste an excellence.
Farewell, woman! I intend
Henceforth every night to sit
With my lewd, well-natured friend,
Drinking to engender wit.
Love's chemistry thrives best in equal heat.
Man differs more from man than man from beast
I wish to be moved. I cannot feel in life. I must have others do it for me in theater.
For Hell and the foul fiend that rules
God's everlasting fiery jails
(Devised by rogues, dreaded by fools),
With his grim, grisly dog that keeps the door,
Are senseless stories, idle tales,
Dreams, whimseys, and no more.
All men would be cowards if they could.
I'd be a dog, a monkey, or a bear, or anything but that vain animal who is so proud of being rational.
Nothing suits worse with vice than want of sense
Angels listen when she speaks; She's my delight, all mankind's wonder; But my jealous heart would break Should we live one day asunder.
He never said a foolish thing nor never did a wise one.
Since 'tis Nature's law to change, Constancy alone is strange.
Love, the most generous passion of the mind
The softest refuge innocence can find
'Tis dangerous to think - For who by thinking tempts his jealous Fate, Is straight arraign'd as Traytor to the State, And none that come within the Verge of Sense, Have to Preferment now the least Pretence. . . .
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