Quote

If love be a god, why should not lovers be virtuous?

John Lyly

Change background

T
T
T

Change font

TAGS & TOPICS

John Lyly
Died: 1606
Died: November 18
Novelist
Playwright
Politician
Writer
Kent
England
John Lilly
John Lylie
John Lyly
Virtuous
Lovers
Love

More quotes by John Lyly

Image
It is the eye of the master that fatteth the horse, and the love of the woman that maketh the man.
John Lyly
Image
In misery it is great comfort to have a companion.
John Lyly
Image
Let the falling out of friends be a renewing of affection.
John Lyly
Image
A bargain is a bargain.
John Lyly
Image
If you will be cherished when you are old, be courteous while you be young.
John Lyly
Image
The tongue, the ambassador of the heart.
John Lyly
Image
A new broome sweepeth cleane.
John Lyly
Image
To love women and never enjoy them, is as much to love wine and never taste it.
John Lyly
Image
Where the mind is past hope, the heart is past shame.
John Lyly
Image
In arguing of the shadow, we forgo the substance.
John Lyly
Image
A merry companion is as good as a wagon.
John Lyly
Image
The rattling thunderbolt hath but his clap, the lightning but his flash, and as they both come in a moment, so do they both end in a minute.
John Lyly
Image
[Beauty is] a delicate bait with a deadly hook a sweet panther with a devouring paunch, a sour poison in a silver pot.
John Lyly
Image
Lette me stande to the maine chance.
John Lyly
Image
Water runneth smoothest where it is deepest.
John Lyly
Image
The bee that hath honey in her mouth hath a sting in her tail.
John Lyly
Image
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.
John Lyly
Image
To love and to live well is wished of many, but incident to few.
John Lyly
Image
The slothful are always ready to engage in idle talk of what will be done tomorrow, and every day after.
John Lyly
Image
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.
John Lyly