Thomas Otway Quotations

Shining through tears, like April suns in showers, that labour to overcome the cloud that loads 'em.

Ambition is a lust that is never quenched, but grows more inflamed and madder by enjoyment.

Honest men are the soft easy cushions on which knaves repose and fatten.

Clocks will go as they are set, but man, irregular man, is never constant, never certain.

Justice is lame as well as blind, amongst us.

Let us embrace, and from this very moment vow an eternal misery together.

If we must part forever, Give me but one kind word to think upon, And please myself with, while my heart's breaking.

Children blessings seem, but torments are;/ When young, our folly, and when old our fear.

The worst thing an old man can be is a lover.

Dame Fortune, like most others of the female sex, is generally most indulgent to the nimble-mettled blockheads.

Who's a prince or beggar in the grave?

Greatness, thou gaudy torment of out souls, The wise man's fetter, and the rage of fools.

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.

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.

I may boldly speak In right, though proud oppression will not hear me!

Home I would go But that my doors are hateful to my eyes, Fill'd and damm'd up with gaping creditors, Watchful as fowlers when their game will spring.

And for an apple damn'd mankind.

Revenge, the attribute of gods! They stamped it with their great image on our natures.

There is such sweet pain in parting that I could hang forever on thine arms, and look away my life into thine eyes.

O woman! lovely woman! Nature made thee To temper man: we had been brutes without you.

No praying, it spoils business.

Shining through tears, like April suns in showers, that labor to overcome the cloud that loads em.

If love be treasure, we'll be wondrous rich.

The poor sleep little.

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.

Love reigns a very tyrant in my heart.

Could my griefs speak, the tale would have no end.

Base natures ever judge a thing above them, and hate a power they are too much obliged to.

Cowards are scared with threatenings; boys are whipped into confession; but a steady mind acts of itself, ne'er asks the body counsel.

False as the adulterate promises of favorites in power when poor men court them.

Avoid the politic, the factious fool, The busy, buzzing, talking harden'd knave; The quaint smooth rogue that sins against his reason, Calls saucy loud sedition public zeal, And mutiny the dictates of his spirit.

Honesty needs no disguise nor ornament; be plain.

Children blessings seem, but torments are.

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.

And die with decency.

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.

If we must part forever, Give me but one kind word to think upon, And please myself with, while my heart's breaking.

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.

You wags that judge by rote, and damn by rule.

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!

How many men Have spent their blood in their dear country's service, Yet now pine under want; while selfish slaves, That even would cut their throats whom now they fawn on, Like deadly locusts, eat the honey up, Which those industrious bees so hardly toil'd for.