I’ll give anything for a good copy now, be it true or false, so it be news.
BEN JONSONTis the common disease of all your musicians that they know no mean, to be entreated, either to begin or end.
More Ben Jonson Quotes
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Minds that are great and free, should not on fortune pause: ‘Tis crown enough to virtue still, her own applause.
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All discourses but my own afflict me; they seem harsh, impertinent, and irksome
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It holds for good polity ever, to have that outwardly in vilest estimation, which inwardly is most dear to us.
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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.
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A good king is a public servant.
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Ambition makes more trusty slaves than need
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For whose sake, henceforth, all his vows be such, As what he loves may never like too much.
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Rich apparel has strange virtues; it makes him that hath it without means esteemed for an excellent wit; he that enjoys it with means puts the world in remembrance of his means.
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Get money, still get money, boy, no matter by what means.
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The soul of man is infinite in what it covets.
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Queen and huntress, chaste and fair Now the sun is laid to sleep, Seated in thy silver chair, State in wonted manner keep: Hesperus entreats thy light Goddess, excellently bright.
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One woman reads another’s character Without the tedious trouble of deciphering
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Force works on servile natures, not the free.
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To speak and to speak well are two things. A fool may talk, but a wise man speaks.
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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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Woman, the more careful she is about her face, the more careless about her house.
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Affliction teacheth a wicked person sometime to pray; prosperity never.
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The burnt child dreads the fire.
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Nor use too swelling, or ill-sounded words . . . .
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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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Sweet meat must have sour sauce.
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Now we are all fallen, youth from their fear, And age from that which bred it, good example.
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Drink today, and drown all sorrow; You shall perhaps not do it tomorrow; Best, while you have it, use your breath; There is no drinking after death.
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Where it concerns himself, Who’s angry at a slander, makes it true.
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True melancholy breeds your perfect fine wit.
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How near to good is what is fair!
BEN JONSON