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No Simple Word That Shall Be Uttered At Our Mirthful Board, Shall Make Us Sad Next Morning; Or Affright The Liberty That We'll Enjoy To-night.

-Ben Jonson

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No Simple Word That

Ben Jonson

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No Simple Word That Shall Be Uttered At Our Mirthful Board, Shall Make Us Sad Next Morning; Or Affright The Liberty That We'll Enjoy To-night.

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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.

The Man That Is Once Hated, Both His Good And His Evil Deeds Oppress Him.

Memory, Of All The Powers Of The Mind, Is The Most Delicate And Frail.

One Woman Reads Another's Character Without The Tedious Trouble Of Deciphering

It Holds For Good Polity Ever, To Have That Outwardly In Vilest Estimation, Which Inwardly Is Most Dear To Us.

Many Might Go To Heaven With Half The Labour They Go To Hell, If They Would Venture Their Industry The Right Way.

Nor For My Peace Will I Go Far, As Wanderers Do, That Still Do Roam, But Make My Strengths, Such As They Are, Here In My Bosom, And At Home.

Hang Sorrow, Care'll Kill A Cat.

O! How Vain And Vile A Passion Is This Fear! What Base Uncomely Things It Makes Men Do.

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?

I See Compassion May Become A Justice, Though It Be A Weakness, I Confess, And Nearer A Vice Than A Virtue.

The Day For Whose Returns, And Many, All These Pray; And So Do I.

Calumnies Are Answered Best With Silence.

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 .

Hell Itself Must Yield To Industry.

I Do Honor The Very Flea Of His Dog.

Art Hath An Enemy Call'd Ignorance .

No Man So Wise That He May Not Easily Err If He Takes No Other Counsel Than His Own. He That Is Taught Only By Himself Has A Fool For A Master.

It Is A Note Of Upstart Greatness To Observe And Watch For These Poor Trifles, Which The Noble Mind Neglects And Scorns.

The Burnt Child Dreads The Fire.

Language Most Shows A Man, Speak That I May See Thee.

And Where She Went, The Flowers Took Thickest Root, As She Had Sow'd Them With Her Odorous Foot.

I Have Discovered That A Famed Familiarity In Great Ones Is A Note Of Certain Usurpation On The Less; For Great And Popular Men Feign Themselves To Be Servants To Others To Make Those Slaves To Them.

Fear To Do Base, Unworthy Things Is Valor; If They Be One To Us, To Suffer Them Is Valor Too.

Out Of Clothes Out Of Countenance, Out Of Countenance Out Of Wit.

A Good Life Is A Main Argument.

Inspirational Life

As It Is A Great Point Of Art, When Our Matter Requires It, To Enlarge And Veer Out All Sail, So To Take It In And Contract It Is Of No Less Praise When The Argument Doth Ask It.

I Am Beholden To Calumny, That She Hath So Endeavored To Belie Me.-it Shall Make Me Set A Surer Guard On Myself, And Keep A Better Watch Upon My Actions.

A Good Poet's Made As Well As Born.

Greatness Of Name, In The Father, Ofttimes Helps Not Forth, But Overwhelms The Son: They Stand Too Near One Another. The Shadow Kills The Growth.

Whom The Disease Of Talking Still Once Posses-seth, He Can Never Hold His Peace.

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.

Wine It Is The Milk Of Venus, And The Poet's Horse Accounted: Ply It And You All Are Mounted.

God Wisheth None Should Wreck On A Strange Shelf: To Him Man's Dearer Than To Himself.

Minds That Are Great And Free, Should Not On Fortune Pause: 'tis Crown Enough To Virtue Still, Her Own Applause.

He Was Not Of An Age, But For All Time!

No Simple Word That Shall Be Uttered At Our Mirthful Board, Shall Make Us Sad Next Morning; Or Affright The Liberty That We'll Enjoy To-night.

Silence In Woman Is Like Speech In Man.

Spread Yourself Upon His Bosom Publicly, Whose Heart You Would Eat In Private.

Poets Are Far Rarer Birds Than Kings.

They, Who Know No Evil, Will Suspect None.

O, For An Engine, To Keep Back All Clocks, Or Make The Sun Forget His Motion!

Cares That Have Entered Once In The Breast, Will Have Whole Possession Of The Rest.

Affliction Teacheth A Wicked Person Sometime To Pray; Prosperity Never.

I Have Been At My Book; And Am Now Past The Craggy Paths Of Study, And Come To The Flowery Plains Of Honour And Reputation

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.

My Thoughts And I Were Of Another World.

Money Never Made Any Man Rich, But His Mind. He That Can Order Himself To The Law Of Nature, Is Not Only Without The Sense, But The Fear Of Poverty.

Nor Shall Our Cups Make Any Guilty Men; But At Our Parting, We Will Be, As When We Innocently Met.

Nothing Is More Short-lived Than Pride.

All The Wise World Is Little Else, In Nature, But Parasites Or Subparasites.

Popular Men, They Must Create Strange Monsters, And Then Quell Them, To Make Their Arts Seem Something.

To The Old, Long Life And Treasure; To The Young, All Health And Pleasure.

Poor Worms, They Hiss At Me, Whilst I At Home Can Be Contented To Applaud Myself, . . . With Joy To See How Plump My Bags Are And My Barns.

A Lily Of A Day Is Fairer Far In May, Although It Fall And Die That Night, It Was The Plant And Flower Of Light. In Small Proportions We Just Beauties See, And In Short Measures Life May Perfect Be.

Many Punishments Sometimes, And In Some Cases, As Much Discredit A Prince As Many Funerals A Physician.

A Good King Is A Public Servant.

Of All Wild Beasts Preserve Me From A Tyrant; And Of All Tame A Flatterer.

Our Whole Life Is Like A Play.

That I Might Live Alone Once With My Gold! O, 'tis A Sweet Companion! Kind And True: A Man May Trust It When His Father Cheats Him, Brother, Or Friend, Or Wife. O Wondrous Pelf! That Which Makes All Men False, Is True Itself.

Opinion Is A Light, Vain, Crude, And Imperfect Thing.

Imperfect Things

Whosoever Loves Not Picture Is Injurious To Truth, And All The Wisdom Of Poetry. Picture Is The Invention Of Heaven, The Most Ancient And Most Akin To Nature. It Is Itself A Silent Work, And Always One And The Same Habit.

Nothing Is A Courtesy Unless It Be Meant Us, And That Friendly And Lovingly. We Owe No Thanks To Rivers That They Carry Our Boats, Or Winds That They Be Favoring And Fill Our Sails, Or Meats That They Be Nourishing; For These Are What They Are Necessarily. Horses Carry Us, Trees Shade Us; But They Know It Not.

No Glass Renders A Man's Form Or Likeness So True As His Speech.

Let Argument Bear No Unmusical Sound.

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.

Each Petty Hand Can Steer A Ship Becalm'd; But He That Will Govern And Carry Her To Her Ends, Must Know His Tides, His Currents, How To Shift His Sails; What She Will Bear In Foul, What In Fair Weathers; Where Her Springs Are, Her Leaks, And How To Stop 'em; What Strands, What Shelves, What Rocks Do Threaten Her.

He That Departs With His Own Honesty For Vulgar , Doth It Too Dearly Buy.

I Glory, More In The Cunning Purchase Of My Wealth Than In The Glad Possession.

Weigh The Meaning And Look Not At The Words.

It Is Less Dishonor To Hear Imperfectly Than To Speak Imperfectly. The Ears Are Excused; The Understanding Is Not.

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.

How Near To Good Is What Is Fair!

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.

A Prince Without Letters Is A Pilot Without Eyes. All His Government Is Groping.

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.

The Way To Rise Is To Obey And Please.

When A Virtuous Man Is Raised, It Brings Gladness To His Friends, Grief To His Enemies, And Glory To His Posterity.

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?

We Are Persons Of Quality, I Assure You, And Women Of Fashion, And Come To See And To Be Seen.

Tis No Sin Love's Fruits To Steal; But The Sweet Thefts To Reveal; To Be Taken, To Be Seen, These Have Crimes Accounted Been.

Language Most Shows A Man; Speak That I May See Thee; It Springs Out Of The Most Retired And Inmost Parts Of Us, And Is The Image Of The Parent Of It, The Mind. No Glass Renders A Man's Form Or Likeness So True As His Speech.

Indeed There's A Woundy Luck In Names.

There Is No Greater Hell Than To Be A Prisoner Of Fear.

Chance Will Not Do The Work. Chance Sends The Breeze; But If The Pilot Slumber At The Helm, The Very Wind That Wafts Us Tow'rds The Port May Dash Us On The Shoals. The Steersman's Part Is Vigilance, Or Blow It Rough Or Smooth.

Tis The Common Disease Of All Your Musicians That They Know No Mean, To Be Entreated, Either To Begin Or End.

There Is No Doctrine Will Do Good Where Nature Is Wanting.

Doing, A Filthy Pleasure Is, And Short; And Done, We Straight Repent Us Of The Sport: Let Us Not Rush Blindly On Unto It, Like Lustful Beasts, That Only Know To Do It: For Lust Will Languish, And That Heat Decay, But Thus, Thus, Keeping Endless Holy-.

True Melancholy Breeds Your Perfect Fine Wit.

If You Be Sick, Your Own Thoughts Make You Sick

For A Man To Write Well, There Are Required Three Necessaries: To Read The Best Authors, Observe The Best Speakers, And Much Exercise Of His Own Style.

I'll Give Anything For A Good Copy Now, Be It True Or False, So It Be News.

Cut Men's Throats With Whisperings.

Blueness Doth Express Trueness.

In Small Proportions We Just Beauties See; And In Short Measures, Life May Perfect Be.

How Fortune Piles Her Sports When She Begins To Practise Them!

If I Freely May Discover What Should Please Me In My Lover, I Would Have Her Fair And Witty, Savouring More Of Court Than City; A Little Proud, But Full Of Pity; Light And Humorous In Her Toying, Oft Building Hopes, And Soon Destroying, Long, But Sweet In The Enjoying; Neither Too Easy Nor To Hard; All Extremes I Would Have Barr'd.

Love That Is Ignorant And Hatred Have Almost The Same Ends.

A New Disease? I Know Not, New Or Old, But It May Well Be Called Poor Mortals Plague For, Like A Pestilence, It Doth Infect The Houses Of The Brain Till Not A Thought, Or Motion, In The Mind, Be Free From The Black Poison Of Suspect.

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.

The World Knows Only Two, That's Rome And I.

Freedom Doth With Degree Dispense.

He Who Is Taught Only By Himself Has A Fool For A Master.

Great Honours Are Great Burdens, But On Whom They Are Cast With Envy, He Doth Bear Two Loads.

I Perceive Affection Makes A Fool Of Any Man Too Much The Father.

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.

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?

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.

Passions Are Spiritual Rebels And Raise Sedition Against The Understanding.

True Gladness Doth Not Always Speak; Joy, Bred And Born But In The Tongue, Is Weak.

Confound These Ancestors... They've Stolen Our Best Ideas!

I Would Rather Have A Plain Down-right Wisdom Than A Foolish And Affected Eloquence.

Prevent Your Day At Morning.

Ambition, Like A Torrent, Never Looks Back.

Man And Wife Make One Fool.

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.

It Is Virtue That Gives Glory; That Will Endenizen A Man Everywhere.

That Praises Are Without Reason Lavished On The Dead, And That The Honours Due Only To Are Paid To Antiquity, Is A Complaint Likely To Be Always Continued By Those Who, Being Able To Add Nothing To Truth, Hope For Eminence From The Heresies Of Paradox; Or Those Who, Being Forced By Disappointment Upon Consolatory Expedients, Are Willing To Hope From Posterity What The Present Age Refuses, And Flatter Themselves That The Regard Which Is Yet Denied By Envy Will Be At Last Bestowed By Time.

All Concord's Born Of Contraries.

Who Falls For Love Of God, Shall Rise A Star.

Well, As He Brews, So Shall He Drink.

He That Would Have His Virtue Published, Is Not The Servant Of Virtue, But Glory.

Books Are Faithful Repositories, Which May Be Awhile Neglected Or Forgotten, But When They Are Opened Again, Will Again Impart Their Instruction.

It Is An Art To Have So Much Judgment As To Apparel A Lie Well, To Give It A Good Dressing.

Reader Look, Not On His Picture But His Book.

Court A Mistress, She Denies You; Let Her Alone, She Will Court You.

Though I Am Young, And Cannot Tell Either What Death Or Love Is Well, Yet I Have Heard They Both Bear Darts, And Both Do Aim At Human Hearts. And Then Again, I Have Been Told Love Wounds With Heat, As Death With Cold; So That I Fear They Do But Bring Extremes To Touch, And Mean One Thing. As In A Ruin We It Call One Thing To Be Blown Up, Or Fall; Or To Our End Like Way May Have By A Flash Of Lightning, Or A Wave; So Love’s Inflamèd Shaft Or Brand May Kill As Soon As Death’s Cold Hand; Except Love’s Fires The Virtue Have To Fight The Frost Out Of The Grave.

Nor Use Too Swelling, Or Ill-sounded Words . . . .

If You Succeed Not, Cast Not Away The Quills Yet, Nor Scratch The Wainscot, Beat Not The Poor Desk, But Bring All To The Forge And File Again; Turn It New.

Men That Talk Of Their Own Benefits Are Not Believed To Talk Of Them Because They Have Done Them, But To Have Done Them Because They Might Talk Of Them.

Mischiefs Feed / Like Beasts, Till They Be Fat, And Then They Bleed.

Very Few Men Are Wise By Their Own Council, Or Learned By Their Own Teaching. For He That Was Only Taught By Himself, Had A Fool For A Master.

Good Men But See Death, The Wicked Taste It.

To Struggle When Hope Is Banished! To Live When Life's Salt Is Gone! To Dwell In A Dream That's Vanished- To Endure, And Go Calmly On!

Success Produces Confidence; Confidence Relaxes Industry, And Negligence Ruins The Reputation Which Accuracy Had Raised.

A Good Man Should And Must Sit Rather Down With Loss Than Rise Unjust.

Ods Me I Marle What Pleasure Or Felicity They Have In Taking Their Roguish Tobacco. It Is Good For Nothing But To Choke A Man, And Fill Him Full Of Smoke And Embers.

Cigarette Smoke

Get Money, Still Get Money, Boy, No Matter By What Means.

Words Borrowed Of Antiquity Do Lend A Kind Of Majesty To Style, And Are Not Without Their Delight Sometimes. For They Have The Authority Of Years, And Out Of Their Intermission Do Win To Themselves A Kind Of Grace-like Newness. But The Eldest Of The Present, And Newest Of The Past Language, Is The Best.

... The Best Pilots Have Need Of Mariners, Besides Sails, Anchor And Other Tackle.

Your Highest Female Grace Is Silence.

Ready Writing Makes Not Good Writing, But Good Writing Brings On Ready Writing.

Tell Troth And Shame The Devil.

The Dignity Of Truth Is Lost With Much Protesting.

Sweet Meat Must Have Sour Sauce.

Neither Do Thou Lust After That Tawny Weed Tobacco.

A Good Dog Deserves A Good Bone.

Folly Often Goes Beyond Her Bounds, But Impudence Knows None.

Guilt's A Terrible Thing.

Terrible Things

The Soul Of Man Is Infinite In What It Covets.

Woman, The More Careful She Is About Her Face, The More Careless About Her House.

Forbear, You Things That Stand Upon The Pinnacles Of State, To Boast Your Slippery Height! When You Do Fall, You Dash Yourselves In Pieces, Ne'er To Rise: And He That Lends You Pity, Is Not Wise.

You Learn Nothing About Someone By The Way They Win The Fight, You Learn Everything About The Way They Lose And Keep Coming Back.

For Whose Sake, Henceforth, All His Vows Be Such, As What He Loves May Never Like Too Much.

To Men Pressed By Their Wants All Change Is Ever Welcome.

Still To Be Neat, Still To Be Drest, As You Were Going To A Feast, Still To Be Powder'd, All Perfum'd. Lady, It Is To Be Presumed, Though Art's Hid Causes Are Not Found, All Is Not Sweet, All Is Not Sound.

No Man Is So Foolish But May Give Another Good Counsel Sometimes; And No Man Is So Wise, But May Easily Err, If He Will Take No Others Counsel But His Own. But Very Few Men Are Wise By Their Own Counsel; Or Learned By Their Own Teaching. For He That Was Only Taught By Himself Had A Fool To His Master.

A Valiant Man Ought Not To Undergo, Or Tempt A Danger, But Worthily, And By Selected Ways, He Undertakes With Reason, Not By Chance. His Valor Is The Salt T' His Other Virtues, They're All Unseason'd Without It.

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.

Ambition Makes More Trusty Slaves Than Need

To Speak And To Speak Well Are Two Things. A Fool May Talk, But A Wise Man Speaks.

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.

If All You Boast Of Your Great Art Be True; Sure, Willing Poverty Lives Most In You.

Whom Hatred Frights, Let Him Not Dream Of Sovereignty.

Soul Of The Age! The Applause! Delight! The Wonder Of Our Stage!

Who Casts To Write A Living Line, Must Sweat.

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.

Heaven Prepares Good Men With Crosses; But No Ill Can Happen To A Good Man.

In The Hope To Meet Shortly Again, And Make Our Absence Sweet.

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.

Let Those That Merely Talk And Never Think, That Live In The Wild Anarchy Of Drink

For He That Once Is Good, Is Ever Great.

How Ready Is Heaven To Those That Pray!

Princes That Would Their People Should Do Well Must At Themselves Begin, As At The Head; For Men, By Their Example, Pattern Out Their Limitations, And Regard Of Laws: A Virtuous Court A World To Virtue Draws.

A Thankful Man Owes A Courtesy Ever; The Unthankful But When He Needs It.

That Old Bald Cheater, Time.

Drink Today, And Drown All Sorrow; You Shall Perhaps Not Do It Tomorrow; Best, While You Have It, Use Your Breath; There Is No Drinking After Death.

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.

Force Works On Servile Natures, Not The Free.

Honor's A Good Brooch To Wear In A Man's Hat At All Times.

I Now Think, Love Is Rather Deaf, Than Blind, For Else It Could Not Be, That She, Whom I Adore So Much, Should So Slight Me, And Cast My Love Behind.

The Devil Is An Ass , I Do Acknowledge It.

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.

Queen And Huntress, Chaste And Fair Now The Sun Is Laid To Sleep, Seated In Thy Silver Chair, State In Wonted Manner Keep: Hesperus Entreats Thy Light Goddess, Excellently Bright.

He That Is Respectless In His Courses Oft Sells His Reputation At Cheap Market.

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.

What Excellent Fools Religion Makes Of Men.

Peace Is Never More Than One Thought Away.

The Poet Is The Nearest Borderer Upon The Orator.

The Covetous Man Never Has Money. The Prodigal Will Have None Shortly.

Vice Is Like A Fury To The Vicious Mind, And Turns Delight Itself To Punishment.

True Happiness Consists Not In The Multitude Of Friends, But In The Worth And Choice.

Still May Syllables Jar With Time, Still May Reason War With Rhyme, Resting Never!

Now We Are All Fallen, Youth From Their Fear, And Age From That Which Bred It, Good Example.

All Discourses But My Own Afflict Me; They Seem Harsh, Impertinent, And Irksome

Custom Is The Most Certain Mistress Of Language, As The Public Stamp Makes The Current Money.

Thy Praise Or Dispraise Is To Me Alike; One Doth Not Stroke Me, Nor The Other Strike.

[the Play] Is Like To Be A Very Conceited Scurvy One, In Plain English.

The Pipe Marks The Point At Which The Orangutan Ends And Man Begins.

Good Men Are The Stars, The Planets Of The Ages Wherein They Live, And Illustrate The Times.

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