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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.
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
Security
Careless
Sleep
Doth
Moth
Dies
Destroys
Dost
Knowledge
Wit
Moths
Lying
Buried
Wits
Common
Arts
Sleeps
Art
Ease
Sloth
Thou
Eats
More quotes by Ben Jonson
Calumnies are answered best with silence.
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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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O, for an engine, to keep back all clocks, or make the sun forget his motion!
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Custom is the most certain mistress of language, as the public stamp makes the current money.
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To the old, long life and treasure To the young, all health and pleasure.
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He that would have his virtue published, is not the servant of virtue, but glory.
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A prince without letters is a Pilot without eyes. All his government is groping.
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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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The world knows only two, that's Rome and I.
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Heaven prepares good men with crosses but no ill can happen to a good man.
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Out of clothes out of countenance, out of countenance out of wit.
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Success hath made me wanton.
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Whom the disease of talking still once posses-seth, he can never hold his peace.
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Come, my Celia, let us prove, While we can, the sports of love, Time will not be ours for ever, He, at length, our good will sever Spend not then his gifts in vain: Suns that set may rise again But if once we lose this light, 'Tis with us perpetual night. Why should we defer our joys? Fame and rumour are but toys.
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How near to good is what is fair!
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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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Good men are the stars, the planets of the ages wherein they live, and illustrate the times.
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The dignity of truth is lost with much protesting.
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The covetous man never has money. The prodigal will have none shortly.
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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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