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True melancholy breeds your perfect fine wit.

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
Breeds
Melancholy
Wit
Fine
Perfect
True

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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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Ambition, like a torrent, ne'er looks back And is a swelling, and the last affection A high mind can put off being both a rebel Unto the soul and reason, and enforceth All laws, all conscience, treads upon religion, and offereth violence to nature's self.
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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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Nor shall our cups make any guilty men But at our parting, we will be, as when We innocently met.
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I do honor the very flea of his dog.
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The world knows only two, that's Rome and I.
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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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He that would have his virtue published, is not the servant of virtue, but glory.
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Truth is man's proper good, and the only immortal thing was given to our mortality to use.
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Ready writing makes not good writing, but good writing brings on ready writing.
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Your highest female grace is silence.
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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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Whom the disease of talking still once posses-seth, he can never hold his peace.
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The poet is the nearest borderer upon the orator.
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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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Forbear, you things That stand upon the pinnacles of state, To boast your slippery height! when you do fall, You dash yourselves in pieces, ne'er to rise: And he that lends you pity, is not wise.
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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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Fortune, thou hadst no deity, if men Had wisdom.
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If all you boast of your great art be true Sure, willing poverty lives most in you.
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I'll give anything for a good copy now, be it true or false, so it be news.
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