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Wine it is the milk of Venus, And the poet’s horse accounted: Ply it and you all are mounted.

Ben Jonson

Love that is ignorant and hatred have almost the same ends.
BEN JONSON

Hate Hatred Ignorant
There is no greater hell than to be a prisoner of fear.
BEN JONSON

Fear Hell No Prisoner
Tis the common disease of all your musicians that they know no mean, to be entreated, either to begin or end.
BEN JONSON

Disease Mean Music
Peace is never more than one thought away.
BEN JONSON

Away Harmony More Peace
Fortune, that favors fools.
BEN JONSON

Favors Fool Fortune
If you succeed not, cast not away the quills yet, nor scratch the wainscot, beat not the poor desk, but bring all to the forge and file again; turn it new.
BEN JONSON

Crafts Scratches Succeed
You learn nothing about someone by the way they win the fight, you learn everything about the way they lose and keep coming back.
BEN JONSON

Art Fighting Winning
Where it concerns himself, Who’s angry at a slander, makes it true.
BEN JONSON

Angry Concern Slander
Hang sorrow, care’ll kill a cat.
BEN JONSON

Care Cat Sorrow
Nor shall our cups make any guilty men; But at our parting, we will be, as when We innocently met.
BEN JONSON

Cup Drinking Men
I perceive affection makes a fool Of any man too much the father.
BEN JONSON

Father Men Parent
Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup And I’ll not look for wine.
BEN JONSON

Food Romantic Wine
Language most shows a man; speak that I may see thee; it springs out of the most retired and inmost parts of us, and is the image of the parent of it, the mind. No glass renders a man’s form or likeness so true as his speech.
BEN JONSON

Glasses Men Spring
I glory, more in the cunning purchase of my wealth than in the glad possession.
BEN JONSON

Glory Greed Wealth
Ambition makes more trusty slaves than need
BEN JONSON

Ambition Needs Slave
Guilt’s a terrible thing.
BEN JONSON

Guilt Terrible Things

Wine it is the milk of Venus, And the poet’s horse accounted: Ply it and you all are mounted.

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Wine it is the milk of Venus, And the poet’s horse accounted: Ply it and you all are mounted.

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Popular Authors

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