John Webster

Lay this unto your breast: Old friends, like old swords, still are trusted best.

Though lust do masque in ne’er so strange disguise she’s oft found witty, but is never wise.

For the subtlest folly proceeds from the subtlest wisdom.

Whether we fall by ambition, blood, or lust, like diamonds we are cut with our own dust.

In all our quest of greatness, like wanton boys, whose pastime is their care, we follow after bubbles, blown in the air.

That friend a great man’s ruin strongly checks, who rails into his belief all his defects.

Fortune’s a right whore. If she give ought, she deals it in small parcels, that she may take away all at one swoop.

Eagles commonly fly alone. They are crows, daws, and starlings that flock together.

Integrity of life is fame’s best friend, which nobly, beyond death, shall crown in the end.

We are merely the stars tennis-balls, struck and bandied which way please them.

Sorrow is held the eldest child of sin.

Heaven fashioned us of nothing; and we strive to bring ourselves to nothing.

All things do help the unhappy man to fall.

Men often are valued high, when they are most wretched.

When a man’s mind rides faster than his horse can gallop they quickly both tire.

Man is most happy, when his own actions are arguments and examples of his virtue.

‘Tis better to be fortunate than wise.

A politician is the devil’s quilted anvil; He fashions all sins on him, and the blows are never heard.

When I go to hell, I mean to carry a bribe: for look you, good gifts evermore make way for the worst persons.