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Oh, yes, thy sins Do run before thee to fetch fire from hell, To light thee thither.

John Webster

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John Webster
Age: 56 †
Born: 1578
Born: January 1
Died: 1634
Died: January 1
Dramatist
Playwright
Poet
Writer
London
England
Hell
Fire
Running
Light
Thither
Fetch
Sins
Thee
Sin

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Knowledge Is Power! Train smart and obtain power!
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The soul was never put in the body to stand still.
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How many ills spring from adultery? First the supreme law that is violated, Nobility oft stain'd with bastardy, Inheritance of land falsely possessed, The husband scorn'd, wife sham'd, and babes unbless'd.
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In all our quest of greatness, like wanton boys, whose pastime is their care, we follow after bubbles, blown in the air.
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When we prohibit others from being different, we end up forfeiting our own right to Liberty.
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How tedious is a guilty conscience!
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That realm is never long in quiet, where the ruler is a soldier.
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I have long served virtue, And never ta'en wages of her.
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I account this world a tedious theater, For I do play a part in 't 'gainst my will.
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Were there no heaven nor hell I should be honest.
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Whether we fall by ambition, blood, or lust, like diamonds we are cut with our own dust.
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Imyself haveheard averygood jest, and havescornedto seem to have so sillya wit as to understand it.
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Man may his fate foresee, but not prevent. 'Tis better to be fortunate than wise.
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Heaven fashioned us of nothing and we strive to bring ourselves to nothing.
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Gold that buys health can never be ill spent, Nor hours laid out in harmless merriment.
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Man is most happy, when his own actions are arguments and examples of his virtue.
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Vain the ambition of kings Who seek by trophies and dead things To leave a living name behind, And weave but nets to catch the wind.
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I do love these ancient ruins. We never tread upon them but we set Our foot upon some reverend history.
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Though lust do masque in ne'er so strange disguise she's oft found witty, but is never wise.
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The misery of us, that are born great, We are forced to woo because none dare woo us.
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