And thus I clothe my naked villany

With old odd ends stolen out of holy writ,

And seem a saint when most I play the devil.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): King Richard III. Act i. Sc. 3.

They please, are pleas'd; they give to get esteem,

Till seeming blest, they grow to what they seem.

Oliver Goldsmith (1728-1774): The Traveller. Line 266.

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,

"Life is but an empty dream!"

For the soul is dead that slumbers,

And things are not what they seem.

Henry W Longfellow (1807-1882): A Psalm of Life.