John Fletcher quotes

John Fletcher was an English playwright who became a leading dramatist during the early 17th century. His collaborations with Francis Beaumont produced some of the most popular plays of the Jacobean era. He greatly influenced English Renaissance drama and was a successor to William Shakespeare at the Globe Theatre. Here are 60 of his quotes:

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

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

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