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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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There is no bounty to be showed to such As have real goodness: Bounty is A spice of virtue and what virtuous act Can take effect on them that have no power Of equal habitude to apprehend it?
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I perceive affection makes a fool Of any man too much the father.
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Indeed there's a woundy luck in names.
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Neither do thou lust after that tawny weed tobacco.
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Memory, of all the powers of the mind, is the most delicate and frail.
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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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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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Hell itself must yield to industry.
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If you be sick, your own thoughts make you sick
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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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There is no greater hell than to be a prisoner of fear.
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We are persons of quality, I assure you, and women of fashion, and come to see and to be seen.
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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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In the hope to meet Shortly again, and make our absence sweet.
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Freedom doth with degree dispense.
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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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Out of clothes out of countenance, out of countenance out of wit.
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Love that is ignorant and hatred have almost the same ends.
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Confound these ancestors... They've stolen our best ideas!
Ben Jonson
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Reader look, not on his picture but his book.
Ben Jonson