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Cares that have entered once in the breast, will have whole possession of the rest.

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
Care
Whole
Entered
Breast
Breasts
Cares
Possession
Anxiety
Rest

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It is the highest of earthly honors to be descended from the great and good. They alone cry out against a noble ancestry who have none of their own.
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Give me a look, give me a face, That makes simplicity a grace Robes loosely flowing, hair as free Such sweet neglect more taketh me Than all the adulteries of art: They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.
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He threatens many that hath injured one.
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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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If men will impartially, and not asquint, look toward the offices and function of a poet, they will easily conclude to themselves the impossibility of any man's being a good poet without first being a good man.
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Confound these ancestors... They've stolen our best ideas!
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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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Soul of the age! The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage! My Shakespeare , rise I will not lodge thee by Chaucer or Spenser , or bid Beaumont lie A little further, to make thee a room Thou art a monument, without a tomb, And art alive still, while thy book doth live, And we have wits to read , and praise to give .
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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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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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To men pressed by their wants all change is ever welcome.
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Sweet Swan of Avon! What a sight it were To see thee in our water yet appear.
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Still may syllables jar with time, Still may reason war with rhyme, Resting never!
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How near to good is what is fair!
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The dignity of truth is lost with much protesting.
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Many punishments sometimes, and in some cases, as much discredit a prince as many funerals a physician.
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I have no urns, no dusty monuments No broken images of ancestors, Wanting an ear, or nose no forged tales Of long descents, to boast false honors from.
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Silence in woman is like speech in man.
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There is no greater hell than to be a prisoner of fear.
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Force works on servile natures, not the free.
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