John Fletcher Quotes
John Fletcher spins witty, bittersweet verses about love, fate, and the folly of human choices.
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O woman, perfect woman! what distraction Was meant to mankind when thou wast made a devil!
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Man is his own star, and the soul that can Render an honest and a perfect man Commands all light, all influence, all fate. Nothing to him falls early, or too late. Our acts our angels are, or good or ill, Our fatal shadows that walk by us still.
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That soul that can Be honest is the only perfect man.
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Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan, Sorrow calls no time that's gone; Violets plucked, the sweetest rain Makes not fresh nor grow again.
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Of all the paths lead to a woman's love Pity's the straightest.
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There is no jesting with edge tools.
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Let's meet and either do or die.
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Hence, all you vain delights, As short as are the nights Wherein you spend your folly! There's naught in this life sweet But only melancholy; O sweetest melancholy!
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Drink today, and drown all sorrow; You shall perhaps not do't tomorrow.
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And he that will to bed go sober Falls with the leaf in October.
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Three merry boys, and three merry boys, And three merry boys are we. As ever did sing in a hempen string Under the gallows tree.
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Hide, oh, hide those hills of snow Which thy frozen bosom bears, On whose tops the pinks that grow Are of those that April wears! But first set my poor heart free, Bound in those icy chains by thee.
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All things that are Made for our general uses are at war,- Even we among ourselves.
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Hit the nail on the head.
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I find the medicine worse than the malady.
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He went away with a flea in 's ear.
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Fountain heads and pathless groves, Places which pale passion loves.
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Something given that way.
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Deeds, not words.
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Drink today, and drown all sorrow; you shall perhaps not do tomorrow.
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Care-charming Sleep, thou easer of all woes, brother to Death, sweetly thyself dispose.
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Ask how to live? Write, write, write, anything; The world's a fine believing world, write news.
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Then, everlasting Love , restrain thy will; 'Tis god -like to have power, but not to kill.
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Love's tongue is in his eyes.
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Corruption is a tree, whose branches are Of an immeasurable length: they spread Ev'rywhere; and the dew that drops from thence Hath infected some chairs and stools of authority.
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Charity and treating begin at home.
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Speak boldly and speak truly, shame the devil.
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The coward's weapon, poison.
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Man is his own star, and the soul that can, render an honest and a perfect man, Commands all light, all influence, all fate: nothing to him falls early or too late. Our acts are angels are, for good or ill: our fatal shadows that walk by us still.
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O great corrector of enormous times, Shaker of o'er-rank states, thou grand decider Of dusty and old titles, that healest with blood The earth when it is sick, and curest the world O' the pleurisy of people.
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Only look to Jesus. He died for you, died in your place, died under the frowns of heaven, that we might die under its smile.
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Come, sing now, sing; for I know you sing well; I see you have a singing face.
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Death hath so many doors to let out life.
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Of all the forms of wisdom, hindsight is by general consent the least merciful, the most unforgiving.