“Then, if to make your ruin more, You'll peevishly be coy, Die with the scandal of a whore And never know the joy.” — John Wilmot Copy Share Image
“Bawdy in thoughts, precise in words, Ill-natured though a whore, Her belly is a bag of turds, And her cunt a common shore.” — 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
