John Webster Quotes

Prosperity doth bewitch men, seeming clear;
But seas do laugh, show white, when rocks are near.

I know death hath ten thousand several doors
For men to take their exits.

Of what is't fools make such vain keeping?
Sin their conception, their birth, weeping:
Their life, a general mist of error,
Their death, a hideous storm of terror.

Cover her face; mine eyes dazzle: she died young.

I dare truly and boldly say, that one years exercise therein to ingenious spirits, under able Masters, will produce more real and true fruit, than the studying Aristotelian Philosophy hath brought forth in many centuries. O that the Schools therefore would leave their idle, and fruitless speculations, and not be too proud to put their hands to the coals and furnace, where they might find ocular experiments to confute their fopperies, and produce effects that would be beneficial to all posterities.

Condemn you me for that the duke did love me?
So may you blame some fair and crystal river
For that some melancholic, distracted man
Hath drown'd himself in 't.

But keep the wolf far thence, that's foe to men,
For with his nails he'll dig them up again.

Glories, like glow-worms, afar off shine bright,
But look'd too near have neither heat nor light.

Vain the ambition of kings
Who seek by trophies and dead things
To leave a living name behind,
And weave but nets to catch the wind.

Heaven-gates are not so highly arched
As princes' palaces; they that enter there
Must go upon their knees.

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

I saw him going the way of all flesh.

Is not old wine wholesomest, old pippins toothsomest, old wood burn brightest, old linen wash whitest? Old soldiers, sweethearts, are surest, and old lovers are soundest.

'T is just like a summer bird-cage in a garden,—the birds that are without despair to get in, and the birds that are within despair and are in a consumption for fear they shall never get out.

Call for the robin redbreast and the wren,
Since o'er shady groves they hover,
And with leaves and flowers do cover
The friendless bodies of unburied men.