Quote

It is less dishonor to hear imperfectly than to speak imperfectly. The ears are excused the understanding is not.

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
Dishonor
Wit
Ears
Hear
Understanding
Less
Speak
Excused
Imperfectly

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I feel my griefs too, and there scarce is ground Upon my flesh t'inflict another wound. Yet dare I not complain, or wish for death With holy Paul lest it be thought the breath Of discontent or that these prayers be For weariness of life, not love of thee.
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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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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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I know no disease of the soul but ignorance, a pernicious evil, the darkener of man's life, the disturber of his reason, and common confounder of truth.
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I do honor the very flea of his dog.
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Affliction teacheth a wicked person sometime to pray prosperity never.
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The covetous man never has money. The prodigal will have none shortly.
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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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Neither do thou lust after that tawny weed tobacco.
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It is an art to have so much judgment as to apparel a lie well, to give it a good dressing.
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I see compassion may become a justice, though it be a weakness, I confess, and nearer a vice than a virtue.
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Silence in woman is like speech in man.
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Nothing is a courtesy unless it be meant us, and that friendly and lovingly. We owe no thanks to rivers that they carry our boats, or winds that they be favoring and fill our sails, or meats that they be nourishing for these are what they are necessarily. Horses carry us, trees shade us but they know it not.
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Hell itself must yield to industry.
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Memory, of all the powers of the mind, is the most delicate and frail.
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Many might go to heaven with half the labour they go to hell, if they would venture their industry the right way.
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How near to good is what is fair!
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And where she went, the flowers took thickest root, As she had sow'd them with her odorous foot.
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To men pressed by their wants all change is ever welcome.
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