Quote

Who doubting tyranny, and fainting under Fortune's false lottery, desperately run To death, for dread of death that soul's most stout, That, bearing all mischance, dares last it out.

Francis Beaumont

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Francis Beaumont
Age: 31 †
Born: 1584
Born: January 1
Died: 1615
Died: March 6
Actor
Dramatist
Playwright
Poet
Writer
Leicestershire
England
Francis Beaumont the Younger
Death
Dread
Mischance
Running
Tyranny
Fainting
Soul
False
Stout
Dare
Doubting
Fortune
Dares
Doubt
Lottery
Lasts
Bearing
Last
Desperately

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Envy, like the worm, never runs but to the fairest fruit like a cunning bloodhound, it singles out the fattest deer in the flock.
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Kiss till the cow comes home.
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The greatest attribute of Heaven is mercy.
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There is a method in man's wickedness it grows up by degrees.
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Bad's the best of us.
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Grace comes often clad in the dusky robe of desolation.
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Those have most power to hurt us, that we love.
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All confidence which is not absolute and entire, is dangerous. There are few occasions but where a man ought either to say all, or conceal all for, how little so ever you have revealed of your secret to a friend, you have already said too much if you think it not safe to make him privy to all particulars.
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My virginity, that from my childhood kept me company, is heavier than I can endure to bear. Forgive me, Cupid, for thou art god, and I a wretched creature: I have sinn'd but be thou merciful, and grant that yet I may enjoy what thou wilt have me love!
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Nose, nose, jolly red nose,And who gave thee that jolly red nose?Nutmegs and ginger, cinammon and clovesAnd they gave me this jolly red nose.
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Of all the paths [that] lead to a woman's love Pity's the straightest.
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Honor's a thing too subtle for wisdom if honor lie in eating, he's right honorable.
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But what is past my help is past my care.
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It is a word that's quickly spoken, which being unrestrained, a heart is broken
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You are no better than you should be.
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The true way to gain much is never to desire to gain too much.
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Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint, And sweet thyme true, Primrose, first born child of Ver, Merry Spring-time's harbinger.
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