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Were Guilt is, Rage and Courage doth abound.

Ben Jonson

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Ben Jonson
Age: 65 †
Born: 1572
Born: June 21
Died: 1637
Died: August 6
Actor
Literary Critic
Playwright
Poet
Writer
City of Westminster
Benjamin Jonson
Abound
Doth
Rage
Guilty
Guilt
Shame
Courage

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Language most shows a man, speak that I may see thee.
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The pipe marks the point at which the orangutan ends and man begins.
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I would rather have a plain down-right wisdom than a foolish and affected eloquence.
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Of all wild beasts preserve me from a tyrant and of all tame a flatterer.
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Aristotle was the first accurate critic and truest judge nay, the greatest philosopher the world ever had for he noted the vices of all knowledges, in all creatures, and out of many men's perfections in a science he formed still one Art.
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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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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.
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Follow a shadow, it still flies you, Seem to fly, it will pursue: So court a mistress, she denies you Let her alone, she will court you. Say are not women truly, then, Styled but the shadows of us men?
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Passions are spiritual rebels and raise sedition against the understanding.
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The poet is the nearest borderer upon the orator.
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All the wise world is little else, in nature, But parasites or subparasites.
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Court a mistress, she denies you let her alone, she will court you.
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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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Tis not the wholesome sharp mortality, Or modest anger of a satiric spirit, That hurts or wounds the body of a state, But the sinister application Of the malicious, ignorant, and base Interpreter who will distort and strain The general scope and purpose of an author To his particular and private spleen.
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O, for an engine, to keep back all clocks, or make the sun forget his motion!
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The world knows only two, that's Rome and I.
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Custom is the most certain mistress of language, as the public stamp makes the current money.
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Neither do thou lust after that tawny weed tobacco.
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Each petty hand Can steer a ship becalm'd but he that will Govern and carry her to her ends, must know His tides, his currents, how to shift his sails What she will bear in foul, what in fair weathers Where her springs are, her leaks, and how to stop 'em What strands, what shelves, what rocks do threaten her.
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Art hath an enemy call'd ignorance .
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