Quote

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.

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
Plain
Parables
Use
Instruments
Knaves
Sense
Honesty
Ornament
May
Speech
Candor
Needs
Fool
Ornaments
Good
Fine
Speeches
Men
Talk
Disguise
Fools
Wordy
Known

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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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Love reigns a very tyrant in my heart.
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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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Shining through tears, like April suns in showers, that labor to overcome the cloud that loads em.
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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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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.
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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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Clocks will go as they are set, but man, irregular man, is never constant, never certain.
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No praying, it spoils business.
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Revenge, the attribute of gods! They stamped it with their great image on our natures.
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I may boldly speak In right, though proud oppression will not hear me!
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Who's a prince or beggar in the grave?
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Justice is lame as well as blind, amongst us.
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Honest men are the soft easy cushions on which knaves repose and fatten.
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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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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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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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Ambition is a lust that is never quenched, but grows more inflamed and madder by enjoyment.
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You wags that judge by rote, and damn by rule.
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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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