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Success hath made me wanton.

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
Wanton
Hath
Success
Made

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There is no doctrine will do good where nature is wanting.
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Force works on servile natures, not the free.
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Prevent your day at morning.
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It strikes! one, two, Three, four, five, six. Enough, enough, dear watch, Thy pulse hath beat enough. Now sleep and rest Would thou could'st make the time to do so too I'll wind thee up no more.
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Who will not judge him worthy to be robbed That sets his doors wide open to a thief, And shows the felon where his treasure lies?
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Well, I will scourge those apes, And to these courteous eyes oppose a mirror, As large as is the stage whereon we act Where they shall see the time's deformity Anatomised in every nerve, and sinew, With constant courage, and contempt of fear.
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Rich apparel has strange virtues it makes him that hath it without means esteemed for an excellent wit he that enjoys it with means puts the world in remembrance of his means.
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The covetous man never has money. The prodigal will have none shortly.
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I do honor the very flea of his dog.
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Art hath an enemy call'd ignorance .
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Love that is ignorant and hatred have almost the same ends.
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Neither do thou lust after that tawny weed tobacco.
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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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Cares that have entered once in the breast, will have whole possession of the rest.
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Tell troth and shame the devil.
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A good man will avoid the spot of any sin. The very aspersion is grievous, which makes him choose his way in his life, as he would in his journey.
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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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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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Good men are the stars, the planets of the ages wherein they live, and illustrate the times.
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He threatens many that hath injured one.
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