Ramp up my genius, be not retrograde But boldly nominate a spade a spade.
When a virtuous man is raised, it brings gladness to his friends, grief to his enemies, and glory to his posterity
Many might go to heaven with half the labor they go to hell
I do honor the very flea of his dog
Hang sorrow, care'll kill a cat
Lady, it is to be presumed, Though art's hid causes are not found, All is not sweet, all is not sound.
Language most shows a man, speak that I may see thee.
When a virtuous man is raised, it brings gladness to his friends, grief to his enemies, and glory to his posterity.
There is no greater hell than to be a prisoner of fear.
Force works on servile natures, not the free.
Art has an enemy called ignorance.
Slow, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt tears Yet slower yet, O faintly, gentle springs.
Honor's a good brooch to wear in a man's hat at all times
I have betrayed myself with my own tongue The case is altered
Vice Is like a fury to the vicious mind, And turns delight itself to punishment
Let them call it mischief When it is past and prospered t'will be virtue
That for which all virtue now is sold, and almost every vice- almighty gold
Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine Or leave a kiss but in the cup And I'll not look for wine
To speak and to speak well, are two things. A fool may talk, but a wise man speaks.
We are persons of quality, I assure you, and women of fashion, and come to see and to be seen.
Such sweet neglect more taketh me, Than all the adulteries of art They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.
Wherein the graver had a strife With Nature to out-do the life.
Good morning to the day and next, my gold - Open the shrine that I may see my saint.
The fear of every man that heard him was, lest he should make an end.
It is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make men better be.