THOMAS DEKKER

This principle is old, but true as fate,— Kings may love treason, but the traitor hate

The calmest husbands make the stormiest wives.

A wise man poor Is like a sacred book that ’s never read,— To himself he lives, and to all else seems dead. This age thinks better of a gilded fool Than of a threadbare saint in wisdom’s school.

Sleep is that golden chain that ties health and our bodies together.

Oaths are crutches, upon which lies go.

Age is like love, it cannot be hid.

Cast away care, he that loves sorrow Lengthens not a day, nor can buy tomorrow; Money is trash, and he that will spend it, Let him drink merrily, fortune will send it.

Honest labor bears a lovely face.

O what a heaven is love! O what a hell!

This age thinks better of a gilded fool Than of a threadbare saint in wisdom's school.

Honest labor bears a lovely face.

Sleep is that golden chain that ties health and our bodies together.

Age is like love, it cannot be hid.

Golden slumbers kiss your eyes, Smiles awake you when you rise.

Cast away care, he that loves sorrow Lengthens not a day, nor can buy tomorrow; Money is trash, and he that will spend it, Let him drink merrily, fortune will send it.

Arguments, like children, should be like the subject that begets them.

The calmest husbands make the stormiest wives.

Surely man was not created to be an idle fellow; he was not set in this universal orchard to stand still as a tree.

A mask of gold hides all deformities.

This age thinks better of a gilded fool Than of a threadbare saint in wisdom's school.

O what a heaven is love! O what a hell!

Were there no women, men might live like gods.

Oaths are crutches, upon which lies go.

This principle is old, but true as fate,— Kings may love treason, but the traitor hate

A wise man poor Is like a sacred book that ’s never read,— To himself he lives, and to all else seems dead. This age thinks better of a gilded fool Than of a threadbare saint in wisdom’s school.