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Time draweth wrinkles in a fair face, but addeth fresh colors to a fast friend, which neither heat, nor cold, nor misery, nor place, nor destiny, can alter or diminish

John Lyly

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John Lyly
Died: 1606
Died: November 18
Novelist
Playwright
Politician
Writer
Kent
England
John Lilly
John Lylie
John Lyly
Destiny
Fresh
Friend
Heat
Color
Fairs
Cold
Fair
Face
Misery
Wrinkles
Faces
Fast
Alter
Place
Neither
Diminish
Time
Friendship
Colors

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Whilst that the childe is young, let him be instructed in vertue and lytterature.
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When parents put gold into the hands of youth, when they should put a rod under their girdle--when instead of awe they make them past grace, and leave them rich executors of goods, and poor executors of godliness, then it is no marvel that the son being left rich by his father's will, becomes reckless by his own will.
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Marriages are made in heaven and consummated on Earth.
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Whatsoever is in the heart of the sober man, is in the mouth of the drunkard.
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A heat full of coldness, a sweet full of bitterness, a pain full of pleasantness, which maketh thoughts have eyes and hearts ears, bred by desire, nursed by delight, weaned by jealousy, kill'd by dissembling, buried by ingratitude, and this is love.
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A bargain is a bargain.
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If all the earth were paper white / And all the sea were ink / 'Twere not enough for me to write / As my poor heart doth think.
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As love knoweth no lawes, so it regardeth no conditions
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If you will be cherished when you are old, be courteous while you be young.
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Lette me stande to the maine chance.
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The tongue, the ambassador of the heart.
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As the best wine doth make the sharpest vinegar, so the deepest love turns to the deadliest hate.
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Thou art an heyre to fayre lying, that is nothing, if thou be disinherited of learning, for better were it to thee to inherite righteousnesse then riches, and far more seemly were if for thee to haue thy Studie full of bookes, then thy pursse full of mony.
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If love be a god, why should not lovers be virtuous?
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A comely olde man as busie as a bee.
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None but the lark so shrill and clear Now at heaven's gate she claps her wings, The morn not waking till she sings.
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The finest edge is made with the blunt whetstone.
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He that comes in print because he would be known, is like the fool that comes into the market because he would be seen.
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Long quaffing maketh a short lyfe.
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Do you think that any one can move the heart but He that made it?
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