E'en her fair hand, which might bid heat return To Frozen age, and make old hermits burn, Applied to my dead cinder, warms no more Than fire to ashes, could past flames restore. — John Wilmot Copy Share Image
“BOLLOXIMIAN: My pleasures for new cunts I will uphold, And have reserves of kindness for the old. I grant in absence dildo may be… — John Wilmot Copy Share Image
For Hell and the foul fiend that rules God's everlasting fiery jails (Devised by rogues, dreaded by fools), With his grim, grisly dog that… — John Wilmot Copy Share Image
Love, the most generous passion of the mind The softest refuge innocence can find — John Wilmot Copy Share Image
God bless our good and gracious King, Whose promise none relies on; Who never said a foolish thing, Nor ever did a wise one. — John Wilmot Copy Share Image
“This signior is sound, safe, ready, and dumb As ever was candle, carrot, or thumb; Then away with these nasty devices, and show How… — John Wilmot Copy Share Image
Natural freedoms are but just: There's something generous in mere lust. — John Wilmot Copy Share Image
I'd be a dog, a monkey, or a bear, or anything but that vain animal who is so proud of being rational. — John Wilmot Copy Share Image
Before I got married I had six theories about bringing up children; now I have six children, and no theories. — John Wilmot Copy Share Image
