Best 59 quotes of John Webster on MyQuotes

All things do help the unhappy man to fall.

Ambition, madam, is a great man's madness.

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

A powerful portfolio of physiological and behavioural evidence now exists to support the case that fish feel pain and that this feeling matters. In the face of such evidence, any argument to the contrary based on the claim that fish 'do not have the right sort of brain' can no longer be called scientific. It is just obstinate.

Are you grown an atheist? Will you turn your body, Which is the goodly palace of the soul, To the soul's slaughter-house? Oh, the curse'  d devil, Which doth present us with all other sins Thrice-candied o'er.

Cowardly dogs bark loudest.

DUCHESS: Diamonds are of most value, They say, that have past through most jewellers' hands. FERDINAND: Whores, by that rule, are precious.

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

Glories, like glow-worms, afar off shine bright, But looked to near, have neither heat nor light.

Gold that buys health can never be ill spent, Nor hours laid out in harmless merriment.

How many ills spring from adultery? First the supreme law that is violated, Nobility oft stain'd with bastardy, Inheritance of land falsely possessed, The husband scorn'd, wife sham'd, and babes unbless'd.

How tedious is a guilty conscience!

I account this world a tedious theater, For I do play a part in 't 'gainst my will.

I do love these ancient ruins. We never tread upon them but we set Our foot upon some reverend history.

I have long served virtue, And never ta'en wages of her.

I myself have loved a lady and pursued her with a great deal of under-age protestation, whom some three or four gallants that have enjoyed would with all their hearts have been glad to have been rid of. 'Tis just like a summer birdcage 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.

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

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.

Knowledge Is Power! Train smart and obtain power!

Let guilty men remember, their black deeds Do lean on crutches made of slender reeds.

Lust carries her sharp whip At her own girdle.

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

Man may his fate foresee, but not prevent. 'Tis better to be fortunate than wise.

Oh, yes, thy sins Do run before thee to fetch fire from hell, To light thee thither.

Physicians are like kings- They brook no contradiction.

Poor maids have more lovers than husbands.

See, a good habit makes a child a man, Whereas a bad one makes a man a beast.

See, the curse of children! In life they keep us frequently in tears, And in the cold grave leave us in pale fears.

Sorrow is held the eldest child of sin.

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

That realm is never long in quiet, where the ruler is a soldier.

The chiefest action for a man of great spirit is never to be out of action... the soul was never put into the body to stand still.

The misery of us, that are born great, We are forced to woo because none dare woo us.

The soul was never put in the body to stand still.

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

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.

Were there no heaven nor hell I should be honest.

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

When we prohibit others from being different, we end up forfeiting our own right to Liberty.

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

As in this world there are degrees of evils, So in this world there are degrees of devils.

Believing can mean something a good deal less than certainty. I believe the bus will come in five minutes, but I can’t be sure. Or sometimes it can mean the kind of knowledge which is acquired after scrupulous review of evidence to build up a cumulative case for some conviction. But believing [as Scripture presents it] is not half-certainty, nor the fruit of mental effort. It’s belief in the deep, strong sense of giving allegiance to something which overwhelms us. To believe in the Lord Jesus…is to do far more than simply give him a passing nod with the mind or even to honor him with our religious devotion. It’s the astonished business of being so overthrown by his reality, so mastered by his sheer presence, so judged by him, that we can do nothing other than acknowledge that he is supremely real, supremely true. To believe in him is to confess him—to affirm with mind and will and heart that he fills all things, that our only hope lies in his name. ¶ Belief in this sense concerns the entire shape of a personal life. It embraces the whole of us. It’s not one department of our life, something in which we engage alongside all the other things we do—working, loving, hoping, creating, worrying, and so on. Believing is about the way in which we dispose the world of our existence. We believe when we’re totally shaped by something outside of us, acknowledging that it has put a decisive stamp on all that we are and all that we do. This is why belief in this deep, strong sense defines us completely: We’re “believers,” doing all that we do out of the inescapable conviction that the Lord Jesus is the persistent factor in the whole of our life. Believing in him, confessing him, involves no less than everything.

Cover her face; mine eyes dazzle. She died young.

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

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

Integrity of life is fame's best friend, Which nobly, beyond death, shall crown the end.

Oft gay and honoured robes those tortures try: We think caged birds sing, when indeed they cry.

O me, this place is hell.

O that I were a man, or that I had power To execute my apprehended wishes! I would whip some with scorpions.

Our believing has no power of itself; we certainly aren’t saved by belief. We’re saved by the grace and goodness and majesty of him in whom we believe—by the one whom we confess as we believe. In a real sense, our belief is nothing in and of itself. It’s simply a looking to him, a listening to him, in which we are wholly absorbed by that which we see and hear.