DECKER, Thomas Quotes
(d. 1638), English dramatist
We are never like angels till our passion dies.
When all sins are old in us and go upon crutches, covetousness does but then lie in her cradle.
A mask of gold hides all deformities.
Hair, 'tis the robe which curious nature weaves to hang upon the head, and to adorn our bodies.—When we were born, God doth bestow that garment.—When we die, then like a soft and silken canopy it still is over us.—In spite of death, our hair grows in the grave, and that alone looks fresh, when all our other beauty is gone.
The heart of man is of it selfe but little, yet great things cannot fill it: it is not big enough at one meale to satisfie a bird, and yet the whole world cannot satisfie it.
Patience! why, it is the soul of peace; of all the virtues, it is nearest kin to heaven; it makes men look like gods. The best of men that ever wore earth about him was a sufferer,—a soft, meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit; the first true gentleman that ever breathed.
A wise man poor is like a sacred book that's never read; to himself he lives and to all else seems dead.
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