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No flattery, boy! an honest man cannot live by it it is a little, sneaking art, which knaves use to cajole and soften fools withal.

Thomas Otway

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Thomas Otway
Age: 33 †
Born: 1652
Born: March 3
Died: 1685
Died: April 14
Dramatist
Playwright
Poet
Writer
Trotton with Chithurst
West Sussex
Honest
Withal
Use
Sneaking
Art
Soften
Cannot
Knaves
Littles
Flattery
Live
Fools
Little
Fool
Men
Boys
Cajole

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Ambition is a lust that is never quenched, but grows more inflamed and madder by enjoyment.
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There is such sweet pain in parting that I could hang forever on thine arms, and look away my life into thine eyes.
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Cowards are scared with threatenings boys are whipped into confession but a steady mind acts of itself, ne'er asks the body counsel.
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You talk to me in parables. You may have known that I'm no wordy man, Fine speeches are the instruments of knaves Or fools that use them, when they want good sense But honesty Needs no disguise nor ornament: be plain.
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Honesty was a cheat invented first To bind the hands of bold deserving rogues, That fools and cowards might sit safe in power, And lord it uncontroll'd above their betters.
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Shining through tears, like April suns in showers, that labor to overcome the cloud that loads em.
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Dame Fortune, like most others of the female sex, is generally most indulgent to the nimble-mettled blockheads.
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What mighty ills have not been done by woman! Who was't betray'd the Capitol? A woman Who lost Mark Antony the world? A woman Who was the cause of a long ten years' war, And laid at last old Troy is ashes? Woman Destructive, damnable, deceitful woman!
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Justice is lame as well as blind, amongst us.
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Oh woman! lovely woman! nature made thee To temper man we had been brutes without you Angels are painted fair to look like you There's in you all that we believe of heaven, Amazing brightness, purity, and truth, Eternal joy, and everlasting love.
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Honest men are the soft easy cushions on which knaves repose and fatten.
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Clocks will go as they are set, but man, irregular man, is never constant, never certain.
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Who can describe Women's hypocrisies! their subtle wiles, Betraying smiles, feign'd tears, inconstancies! Their painted outsides, and corrupted minds, The sum of all their follies, and their falsehoods.
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Revenge, the attribute of gods! They stamped it with their great image on our natures.
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Ere man's corruptions made him wretched, he Was born most noble that was born most free Each of himself was lord and unconfin'd Obey'd the dictates of his godlike mind.
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You wags that judge by rote, and damn by rule.
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No praying, it spoils business.
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Love reigns a very tyrant in my heart.
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I may boldly speak In right, though proud oppression will not hear me!
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Greatness, thou gaudy torment of out souls, The wise man's fetter, and the rage of fools.
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