John Fletcher quotes

Drink today, and drown all sorrow; You shall perhaps not do't tomorrow. (John Fletcher)
Death hath so many doors to let out life.
John Fletcher
Oh, woman, perfect woman! what distraction Was meant to mankind when thou wast made a devil! What an inviting hell invented.
John Fletcher
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!
John Fletcher
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.
John Fletcher
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.
John Fletcher
Come, sing now, sing; for I know you sing well; I see you have a singing face.
John Fletcher
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.
John Fletcher
Charity and treating begin at home.
John Fletcher
Speak boldly, and speak truly, shame the devil.
John Fletcher
That soul that can Be honest is the only perfect man. (John Fletcher)
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.
John Fletcher
Then, everlasting Love, restrain thy will; 'Tis god-like to have power, but not to kill.
John Fletcher
Let's meet and either do or die.
John Fletcher
Three merry boys, and three merry boys, And three merry boys are we, As ever did sing in a hempen string Under the gallow-tree.
John Fletcher
Of all the paths lead to a woman's love Pity's the straightest.
John Fletcher
There's nothing that allays an angry mind So soon as a sweet beauty.
John Fletcher
Whistle, and she'll come to you.
John Fletcher
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.
John Fletcher
He 'as had a stinger.
John Fletcher
I'll have a fling. (John Fletcher)
Though I say't that should not say't.
John Fletcher
Twas when young Eustace wore his heart in's breeches.
John Fletcher
Go far-too far you cannot, still the farther The more experience finds you: And go sparing;- One meal a week will serve you, and one suit, Through all your travels; for you'll find it certain, The poorer and the baser you appear, The more you look through still.
John Fletcher
Our acts our angels are, for good or ill, our fatal shadows that walk by us still.
John Fletcher