Ambition is a lust that is never quenched, but grows more inflamed and madder by enjoyment.
How many men
Have spent their blood in their dear country's service,
Yet now pine under want; while selfish slaves,
That even would cut their throats whom now they fawn on,
Like deadly locusts, eat the honey up,
Which those industrious bees so hardly toil'd for.
Honest men are the soft easy cushions on which knaves repose and fatten.
Who can describe
Women's hypocrisies! their subtle wiles,
Betraying smiles, feign'd tears, inconstancies!
Their painted outsides, and corrupted minds,
The sum of all their follies, and their falsehoods.
Home I would go But that my doors are hateful to my eyes, Fill'd and damm'd up with gaping creditors, Watchful as fowlers when their game will spring.
Who's a prince or beggar in the grave?
What mighty ills have not been done by woman!
Who was't betray'd the Capitol? A woman;
Who lost Mark Antony the world? A woman;
Who was the cause of a long ten years' war,
And laid at last old Troy is ashes? Woman;
Destructive, damnable, deceitful woman!
You wags that judge by rote, and damn by rule.
Oh woman! lovely woman! nature made thee To temper man; we had been brutes without you; Angels are painted fair to look like you; There's in you all that we believe of heaven, Amazing brightness, purity, and truth, Eternal joy, and everlasting love.
If we must part forever,
Give me but one kind word to think upon,
And please myself with, while my heart's breaking.
Honesty was a cheat invented first To bind the hands of bold deserving rogues, That fools and cowards might sit safe in power, And lord it uncontroll'd above their betters.
False as the adulterate promises of favorites in power when poor men court them.
Avoid the politic, the factious fool,
The busy, buzzing, talking harden'd knave;
The quaint smooth rogue that sins against his reason,
Calls saucy loud sedition public zeal,
And mutiny the dictates of his spirit.
Let us embrace, and from this very moment vow an eternal misery together.
Children blessings seem, but torments are.
You talk to me in parables.
You may have known that I'm no wordy man,
Fine speeches are the instruments of knaves
Or fools that use them, when they want good sense;
Needs no disguise nor ornament: be plain.
And die with decency.
The poor sleep little.
If love be treasure, we'll be wondrous rich.
No praying, it spoils business.
No flattery, boy! an honest man cannot live by it; it is a little, sneaking art, which knaves use to cajole and soften fools withal.
O woman! lovely woman! Nature made thee
To temper man: we had been brutes without you.
There is such sweet pain in parting that I could hang forever on thine arms, and look away my life into thine eyes.
Revenge, the attribute of gods! They stamped it with their great image on our natures.
And for an apple damn'd mankind.
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