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A new broome sweepeth cleane.

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

More quotes by John Lyly

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The greatest harm that you can do unto the envious, is to do well.
John Lyly
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Where the streame runneth smoothest, the water is deepest.
John Lyly
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[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
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The slothful are always ready to engage in idle talk of what will be done tomorrow, and every day after.
John Lyly
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To give reason for fancy were to weigh the fire, and measure the wind.
John Lyly
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Whilst that the childe is young, let him be instructed in vertue and lytterature.
John Lyly
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In misery it is great comfort to have a companion.
John Lyly
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The true measure of life is not length, but honesty.
John Lyly
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I thank you for nothing, because I understand nothing.
John Lyly
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A merry companion is as good as a wagon, For you shall be sure to ride though ye go a foot.
John Lyly
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Where the mind is past hope, the heart is past shame.
John Lyly
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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.
John Lyly
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The empty vessel giveth a greater sound than the full barrel.
John Lyly
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A bargain is a bargain.
John Lyly
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Though women have small force to overcome men by reason yet have they good fortune to undermine them by policy.
John Lyly
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Far more seemly to have thy study full of books, than thy purse full of money.
John Lyly
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The tongue, the ambassador of the heart.
John Lyly
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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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Do you think that any one can move the heart but He that made it?
John Lyly
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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.
John Lyly