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Fair words never hurt the tongue.
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Then forth he came, his both knees falt'ring, bothHis strong hands hanging down, and all with frothHis cheeks and nostrils flowing, voice and breathSpent to all use, and down he sunk to death.The sea had soaked his heart through; all his veinsHis toils had rack'd t'a labouring woman's pains.Dead weary was he.
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He is at no end of his actions blestWhose ends will make him greatest, and not best.
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His deeds inimitable, like the seaThat shuts still as it opes, and leaves no tractsNor prints of precedent for poor men's facts.
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I will neither yield to the song of the siren nor the voice of the hyena, the tears of the crocodile nor the howling of the wolf.
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Mourne not inevitable things; thy teares can spring no deedsTo helpe thee, nor recall thy sonne: impacience ever breedsIll upon ill, makes worst things worse.
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Obscuritie in affection of words, & indigested concets, is pedanticall and childish...
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I love vintage and prints.
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As night the life-inclining stars best shows,So lives obscure the starriest souls disclose.
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How blinde is pride! what eagles we are stillIn matters that belong to other men,What beetles in our own!
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Love is a golden bubble, full of dreams,That waking breaks, and fills us with extremes.
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What man can blameThe Greekes and Trojans to endure, for so admired a Dame,So many miseries, and so long? In her sweet countenance shineLookes like the Godesses.
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Each natural agent works but to this end,-To render that it works on like itself.
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This was a sleight well mask'd. O, what is man,Unless he be a Politician?
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Who to himself is law no law doth need,Offends no law, and is a king indeed.
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Virtue is not malicious; wrong done herIs righted even when men grant they err.
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Let pride go afore, shame will follow after.
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Man is a torch borne in the wind; a dreamBut of a shadow, summ'd with all his substance.
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To put a girdle round about the world.
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Poetry, unlike oratory, should not aim at clarity... but be dense with meaning, 'something to be chewed and digested'...