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.
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.
The theatre is my drug. And my illness is so far advanced that my physic must be of the highest quality.
any experiment of interest in life will be carried out at your own expense
God bless our good and gracious King, Whose promise none relies on; Who never said a foolish thing, Nor ever did a wise one.
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.
Before I married, I had three theories about raising children and no children. Now, I have three children and no theories.
Envy is a passion so full of cowardice and shame that nobody ever had the confidence to own it.
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.
Since 'tis Nature's law to change, Constancy alone is strange.
Man differs more from man than man from beast
I'd be a dog, a monkey, or a bear, or anything but that vain animal who is so proud of being rational.
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.
The clog of all pleasure, the luggage of life, is the best can be said for a very good wife.
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.
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.
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.
Nothing suits worse with vice than want of sense
Love, the most generous passion of the mind
The softest refuge innocence can find
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