Quotes
Quotes about Men
The gretest clerkes ben not the wisest men.
They demen gladly to the badder end.
For out of the old fieldes, as men saithe,
Cometh al this new corne fro yere to yere;
And out of old bookes, in good faithe,
Cometh al this new science that men lere.
Of all the floures in the mede,
Than love I most these floures white and rede,
Soch that men callen daisies in our toun.
That well by reason men it call may
The daisie, or els the eye of the day,
The emprise, and floure of floures all.
And while I at length debate and beate the bush,
There shall steppe in other men and catch the burdes.
Men say, kinde will creepe where it may not goe.
Who waite for dead men shall goe long barefoote.
The greatest Clerkes be not the wisest men.
A sweet attractive kinde of grace,
A full assurance given by lookes,
Continuall comfort in a face
The lineaments of Gospell bookes.
The noblest mind the best contentment has.
That to live by one man's will became the cause of all men's misery.
He cometh unto you with a tale which holdeth children from play, and old men from the chimney-corner.
Young men think old men are fools; but old men know young men are fools.
Virtue is not malicious; wrong done her
Is righted even when men grant they err.
His deeds inimitable, like the sea
That shuts still as it opes, and leaves no tracts
Nor prints of precedent for poor men's facts.
Only a few industrious Scots perhaps, who indeed are dispersed over the face of the whole earth. But as for them, there are no greater friends to Englishmen and England, when they are out on 't, in the world, than they are. And for my own part, I would a hundred thousand of them were there [Virginia]; for we are all one countrymen now, ye know, and we should find ten times more comfort of them there than we do here.
The little foolery that wise men have makes a great show.
"Poor deer," quoth he, "thou makest a testament
As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more
To that which had too much."
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players.
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard;
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
Men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them,--but not for love.
Men are April when they woo, December when they wed: maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives.
As Stephen Sly and old John Naps of Greece,
And Peter Turph and Henry Pimpernell,
And twenty more such names and men as these
Which never were, nor no man ever saw.
All impediments in fancy's course
Are motives of more fancy.
Let still the woman take
An elder than herself: so wears she to him,
So sways she level in her husband's heart:
For, boy, however we do praise ourselves,
Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn,
Than women's are.
