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Peace is never more than one thought away.

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
Harmony
Peace
Away
Thought
Never

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There is no greater hell than to be a prisoner of fear.
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Confound these ancestors... They've stolen our best ideas!
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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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Great honours are great burdens, but on whom They are cast with envy, he doth bear two loads.
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The poet is the nearest borderer upon the orator.
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The soul of man is infinite in what it covets.
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Your highest female grace is silence.
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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.
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One woman reads another's character Without the tedious trouble of deciphering
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I glory, more in the cunning purchase of my wealth than in the glad possession.
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Force works on servile natures, not the free.
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It is less dishonor to hear imperfectly than to speak imperfectly. The ears are excused the understanding is not.
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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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Spread yourself upon his bosom publicly, whose heart you would eat in private.
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Tell troth and shame the devil.
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Come, my Celia, let us prove, While we can, the sports of love, Time will not be ours for ever, He, at length, our good will sever Spend not then his gifts in vain: Suns that set may rise again But if once we lose this light, 'Tis with us perpetual night. Why should we defer our joys? Fame and rumour are but toys.
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The voice so sweet, the words so fair, As some soft chime had stroked the air And though the sound had parted thence, Still left an echo in the sense.
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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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The pipe marks the point at which the orangutan ends and man begins.
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Custom is the most certain mistress of language, as the public stamp makes the current money.
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