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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
Men
Boys
Cajole
Honest
Withal
Use
Sneaking
Art
Soften
Cannot
Knaves
Littles
Flattery
Live
Fools
Little
Fool

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Who's a prince or beggar in the grave?
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If we must part for ever, Give me but one kind word to think upon, And please myself withal, whilst my heart's breaking!
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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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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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Love reigns a very tyrant in my heart.
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Honest men are the soft easy cushions on which knaves repose and fatten.
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Ambition is a lust that is never quenched, but grows more inflamed and madder by enjoyment.
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Clocks will go as they are set, but man, irregular man, is never constant, never certain.
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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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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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Justice is lame as well as blind, amongst us.
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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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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 wags that judge by rote, and damn by rule.
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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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No praying, it spoils business.
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I may boldly speak In right, though proud oppression will not hear me!
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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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Shining through tears, like April suns in showers, that labor to overcome the cloud that loads em.
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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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