A new disease? I know not, new or old, but it may well be called poor mortals plague for, like a pestilence, it doth infect the houses of the brain till not a thought, or motion, in the mind, be free from the black poison of suspect.
BEN JONSONMen that talk of their own benefits are not believed to talk of them because they have done them, but to have done them because they might talk of them.
More Ben Jonson Quotes
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O! How vain and vile a passion is this fear! What base uncomely things it makes men do.
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… the best pilots have need of mariners, besides sails, anchor and other tackle.
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I remember, the players have often mentioned it as an honour to Shakespeare, that in his writing (whatsoever he penned) he never plotted out a line. My answer hath been, would he had blotted a thousand.
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We are persons of quality, I assure you, and women of fashion, and come to see and to be seen.
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It is a note Of upstart greatness to observe and watch For these poor trifles, which the noble mind Neglects and scorns.
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If men will impartially, and not asquint, look toward the offices and function of a poet, they will easily conclude to themselves the impossibility of any man’s being a good poet without first being a good man.
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True happiness consists not in the multitude of friends, but in the worth and choice.
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Forbear, you things That stand upon the pinnacles of state, To boast your slippery height! when you do fall, You dash yourselves in pieces, ne’er to rise: And he that lends you pity, is not wise.
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Nor shall our cups make any guilty men; But at our parting, we will be, as when We innocently met.
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Ready writing makes not good writing, but good writing brings on ready writing.
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Fortune, thou hadst no deity, if men Had wisdom.
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Soul of the age! The applause! delight! The wonder of our stage!
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Books are faithful repositories, which may be awhile neglected or forgotten, but when they are opened again, will again impart their instruction.
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Where dost thou careless lie, Buried in ease and sloth? Knowledge that sleeps, doth die; And this security, It is the common moth, That eats on wits and arts, and oft destroys them both.
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Whosoever loves not picture is injurious to truth, and all the wisdom of poetry. Picture is the invention of heaven, the most ancient and most akin to nature. It is itself a silent work, and always one and the same habit.
BEN JONSON