Poetry is the honey of all flowers, the quintessence of all sciences, the marrow of wit, and the very phrase of angels.
Fair summer droops, droop men and beasts therefore: So fair a summer look for never more. All good things vanish, less than in a day, Peace, plenty, … - Thomas Nashe
Fair summer droops, droop men and beasts therefore: So fair a summer look for never more. All good things vanish, less than in a day, Peace, plenty, …
- Thomas Nashe
Immortal Spenser, no frailty hath thy fame but the imputation of this idiot's friendship! - Thomas Nashe
Immortal Spenser, no frailty hath thy fame but the imputation of this idiot's friendship!
A traveller must have the back of an ass to bear all, a tongue like the tail of a dog to flatter all, the mouth of a hog to eat what is set before hi… - Thomas Nashe
A traveller must have the back of an ass to bear all, a tongue like the tail of a dog to flatter all, the mouth of a hog to eat what is set before hi…
Our learning ought to be our lives' amendment, and the fruits of our private study ought to appear in our public behavior. - Thomas Nashe
Our learning ought to be our lives' amendment, and the fruits of our private study ought to appear in our public behavior.
Blest is that government where no art thrives. - Thomas Nashe
Blest is that government where no art thrives.
The Sun shineth as well on the good as the bad: God from on high beholdeth all the workers of iniquity, as well as the upright of heart. - Thomas Nashe
The Sun shineth as well on the good as the bad: God from on high beholdeth all the workers of iniquity, as well as the upright of heart.
Beauty is but a flower Which wrinkles will devour; Brightness falls from the air; Queens have died young and fair; Dust hath closed Helen's eye. - Thomas Nashe
Beauty is but a flower Which wrinkles will devour; Brightness falls from the air; Queens have died young and fair; Dust hath closed Helen's eye.
Poetry is the honey of all flowers, the quintessence of all sciences, the marrow of wit, and the very phrase of angels. - Thomas Nashe
Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king; Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring, Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do… - Thomas Nashe
Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king; Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring, Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do…
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