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Be not with honor's gilded baits beguil'd, Nor think ambition wise, because 'tis brave For though we like it, as a forward child, 'Tis so unsound, her cradle is the grave.
William Davenant
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William Davenant
Age: 62 †
Born: 1606
Born: February 1
Died: 1668
Died: April 7
Playwright
Poet
Writer
Child
Cradle
Though
Grave
Children
Graves
Think
Brave
Thinking
Ambition
Baits
Like
Forward
Unsound
Honor
Gilded
Wise
Bait
More quotes by William Davenant
Ambition is the mind's immodesty.
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How much pleasure they lose (and even the pleasures of heroic poesy are not unprofitable) who take away the liberty of a poet, and fetter his feet in the shackles of a historian.
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The assembled souls of all that men held wise.
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To be rich be diligent move on Like heav'ns great movers that enrich the earth Whose moment's sloth would show the world undone And make the spring straight bury all her birth. Rich are the diligent who can command Time--nature's stock.
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What one cannot, another can.
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It is the wit and policy of sin to hate those we have abused.
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Go! dive into the Southern Sea, and when Th'ast found, to trouble the nice sight of men, A swelling pearl, and such whose single worth Boasts all the wonders which the seas bring forth, Give it Endymion's love, whose ev'ry tear Would more enrich the skilful jeweller.
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Honor is the moral conscience of the great.
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Small are the seeds fate does unheeded sow Of slight beginnings to important ends.
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All jealousy must be strangled in its birth.
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Generous souls Are still most subject to credulity.
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Think not ambition wise, because 't is brave.
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Had laws not been, we never had been blam'd For not to know we sinn'd is innocence.
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All slander must still be strangled in its birth, or time will soon conspire to make it strong enough to overcome the truth.
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Since knowledge is but sorrow's spy, It is not safe to know.
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How beautiful is sorrow when it is dressed by virgin innocence! it makes felicity in others seem deformed.
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Faith lights us through the dark to Deity.
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Slow seems their speed whose thoughts before them run.
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Anger is blood, poured and perplexed into froth but malice is the wisdom of our wrath.
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Fame, like the river, is narrowest where it is bred, and broadest afar off.
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