George Farquhar

Necessity, the mother of invention.

’T was for the good of my country that I should be abroad.

I believe they talked of me, for they laughed consumedly.

There is no scandal like rags, nor any crime so shameful as poverty.

Sir, you shall taste my Anno Domini.

[T]hose who know the least, obey the best.

Hanging and marriage, you know, go by destiny.

Cos. Pray now, what may be that same bed of honour? Kite. Oh, a mighty large bed! bigger by half than the great bed at Ware: ten thousand people may lie in it together, and never feel one another.

Crimes, like Virtues, are their own Rewards.

I hate all that don’t love me, and slight all that do.

Poetry’s a mere drug, Sir.