Quote

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.

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
Thou
Eats
Security
Careless
Sleep
Doth
Moth
Dies
Destroys
Dost
Knowledge
Wit
Moths
Lying
Buried
Wits
Common
Arts
Sleeps
Art
Ease
Sloth

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He was not of an age, but for all time!
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In the hope to meet Shortly again, and make our absence sweet.
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He that would have his virtue published, is not the servant of virtue, but glory.
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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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Affliction teacheth a wicked person sometime to pray prosperity never.
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To men pressed by their wants all change is ever welcome.
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Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine Or leave a kiss but in the cup And I'll not look for wine.
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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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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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Aristotle was the first accurate critic and truest judge nay, the greatest philosopher the world ever had for he noted the vices of all knowledges, in all creatures, and out of many men's perfections in a science he formed still one Art.
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It holds for good polity ever, to have that outwardly in vilest estimation, which inwardly is most dear to us.
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Out of clothes out of countenance, out of countenance out of wit.
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Follow a shadow, it still flies you, Seem to fly, it will pursue: So court a mistress, she denies you Let her alone, she will court you. Say are not women truly, then, Styled but the shadows of us men?
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The pipe marks the point at which the orangutan ends and man begins.
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One woman reads another's character Without the tedious trouble of deciphering
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Tis the common disease of all your musicians that they know no mean, to be entreated, either to begin or end.
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I remember, the players have often mentioned it as an honour to Shakespeare, that in his writing (whatsoever he penned) he never plotted out a line. My answer hath been, would he had blotted a thousand.
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Neither do thou lust after that tawny weed tobacco.
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