The heart of man is the place the Devil's in: I feel sometimes a hell within myself.
Oh, shame to men! devil with devil damn'd
Firm concord holds, men only disagree
Of creatures rational.
And with necessity,
The tyrant's plea, excus'd his devilish deeds.
Abash'd the devil stood,
And felt how awful goodness is, and saw
Virtue in her shape how lovely.
So over violent, or over civil,
That every man with him was God or Devil.
And that one hunting, which the Devil design'd
For one fair female, lost him half the kind.
Wherever God erects a house of prayer,
The Devil always builds a chapel there;
And 't will be found, upon examination,
The latter has the largest congregation.
Pretty! in amber to observe the forms
Of hairs, or straws, or dirt, or grubs, or worms!
The things, we know, are neither rich nor rare,
But wonder how the devil they got there.
Let him go abroad to a distant country; let him go to some place where he is not known. Don't let him go to the devil, where he is known.
Go, poor devil, get thee gone! Why should I hurt thee? This world surely is wide enough to hold both thee and me.
Are these the choice dishes the Doctor has sent us?
Is this the great poet whose works so content us?
This Goldsmith's fine feast, who has written fine books?
Heaven sends us good meat, but the Devil sends cooks?
The bane of all that dread the Devil.
And the Devil did grin, for his darling sin
Is pride that apes humility.
From his brimstone bed, at break of day,
A-walking the Devil is gone,
To look at his little snug farm of the World,
And see how his stock went on.
Good at a fight, but better at a play;
Godlike in giving, but the devil to pay.
Though an angel should write, still 't is devils must print.
There was a laughing devil in his sneer.
The Devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice,
An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice.
He was a man
Who stole the livery of the court of Heaven
To serve the Devil in.
Out of his surname they have coined an epithet for a knave, and out of his Christian name a synonym for the Devil.
He's tough, ma'am,--tough is J. B.; tough and devilish sly.
Doubt is brother-devil to Despair.
Why should the Devil have all the good tunes?
Tell your master that if there were as many devils at Worms as tiles on its roofs, I would enter.
For where God built a church, there the Devil would also build a chapel.