As it is a great point of art, when our matter requires it, to enlarge and veer out all sail, so to take it in and contract it is of no less praise when the argument doth ask it.
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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Fortune, that favors fools.
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What excellent fools religion makes of men.
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Cares that have entered once in the breast, will have whole possession of the rest.
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Get money, still get money, boy, no matter by what means.
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Were Guilt is, Rage and Courage doth abound.
BEN JONSON -
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 -
Tis the common disease of all your musicians that they know no mean, to be entreated, either to begin or end.
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Force works on servile natures, not the free.
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There is no greater hell than to be a prisoner of fear.
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Your highest female grace is silence.
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He was not of an age, but for all time!
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The day For whose returns, and many, all these pray; And so do I.
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Tell troth and shame the devil.
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The world knows only two, that’s Rome and I.
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Passions are spiritual rebels and raise sedition against the understanding.
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True happiness consists not in the multitude of friends, but in the worth and choice.
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Ambition makes more trusty slaves than need
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Ready writing makes not good writing, but good writing brings on ready writing.
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Hell itself must yield to industry.
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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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I have been at my book; and am now past the craggy paths of study, and come to the flowery plains of honour and reputation
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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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Art hath an enemy call’d ignorance .
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Poor worms, they hiss at me, whilst I at home Can be contented to applaud myself, . . . with joy To see how plump my bags are and my barns.
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Affliction teacheth a wicked person sometime to pray; prosperity never.
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Hang sorrow, care’ll kill a cat.
BEN JONSON