Philip Massinger Quotes - Page 2

And, to all married men, be this a caution, Which they should duly tender as their life, Neither to doat too much, nor doubt a wife.

He that doth public good for multitudes, finds few are truly grateful

What a seaOf melting ice I walk on!

From the king To the beggar, by gradation, all are servants; And you must grant, the slavery is less To study to please one, than many.

Great men, Till they have gained their ends, are giants in Their promises, but, those obtained, weak pigmies In their performance. And it is a maxim Allowed among them, so they may deceive, They may swear anything; for the queen of love, As they hold constantly, does never punish, But smile, at lovers' perjuries.

But married once, a man is stak'd or pown'd, and cannot graze beyond his own hedge.

What can innocence hope for, When such as sit her judges are corrupted!

Petitions, not sweetened with gold, are but unsavory and oft refused; or, if received, are pocketed, not read.

How sweetly sounds the voice of a good woman! It is so seldom heard that, when it speaks,it ravishes all senses.

One grain of incense with devotion offer'd 'S beyond all perfumes of Sabaean spices.

Honour is Virtue's allowed ascent: honour that clasps All perfect justice in her arms; that craves No more respect than that she gives; that does Nothing but what she'll suffer.

He is not valiant that dares lie; but he that boldly bears calamity.

As the index tells us the contents of stories and directs to the particular chapter, even so does the outward habit and superficial order of garments (in man or woman) give us a taste of the spirit, and demonstratively point (as it were a manual note from the margin) all the internal quality of the soul; and there cannot be a more evident, palpable, gross manifestation of poor, degenerate, dunghilly blood and breeding than a rude, unpolished, disordered, and slovenly outside.

Thou art figured blind, and yet we borrow our best sight from thee.

You may boldly say, you did not plough Or trust the barren and ungrateful sands With the fruitful grain of your religious counsels.

Nor custom, nor example, nor cast numbers Of such as do offend, make less the sin.

Ambition, in a private man is a vice, is in a prince the virtue.

My dancing days are past.

Gold--the picklock that never fails.

Virgin me no virgins! I must have you lose that name, or you lose me.

This is the Jew that Shakespeare drew.

Shall this nectar Run useless, then, to waste? or ... these lips, That open like the morn, breathing perfumes, On such as dare approach them, be untouch'd? They must--nay, 'tis in vain to make resistance-- Be often kissed and tasted.

Before We end our pilgrimage, 'tis fit that we Should leave corruption, and foul sin, behind us, But with wash'd feet and hands, the heathens dar' not Enter their profane temples; and for me To hope my passage to eternity Can be made easy, till I have shook off The burthen of my sins in free confession, Aided with sorrow, and repentance for them, Is against reason.

Tis the only discipline we are born for; all studies else are but as circular lines, and death the center where they all must meet.

Though the desire of fame be the last weakness Wise men put off.