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Hell itself must yield to industry.

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
Industry
Hell
Must
Yield

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No glass renders a man's form or likeness so true as his speech.
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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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I glory, more in the cunning purchase of my wealth than in the glad possession.
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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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I know no disease of the soul but ignorance, a pernicious evil, the darkener of man's life, the disturber of his reason, and common confounder of truth.
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The soul of man is infinite in what it covets.
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Court a mistress, she denies you let her alone, she will court you.
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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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Good men but see death, the wicked taste it.
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Peace is never more than one thought away.
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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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He threatens many that hath injured one.
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Out of clothes out of countenance, out of countenance out of wit.
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How near to good is what is fair!
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It is as great a spite to be praised in the wrong place, and by a wrong person, as can be done to a noble nature.
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Prevent your day at morning.
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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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What excellent fools religion makes of men.
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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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All discourses but my own afflict me they seem harsh, impertinent, and irksome
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