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I am amazed at radio DJ's today. I am firmly convinced that AM on my radio stands for Absolute Moron. I will not begin to tell you what FM stands for.

Tuesday
May 07, 2024

Quotes: 53419
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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.
Benjamin Jonson

Quote Author: Benjamin Jonson

Benjamin Jonson

Benjamin Jonson

Benjamin Jonson (c. 11 June 1572 - 6 August 1637) was an English Renaissance dramatist, poet and actor. A contemporary of William Shakespeare, he is best known for his satirical plays, particularly Volpone and The Alchemist which are considered his best, and his lyric poems. A man of vast reading and a seemingly insatiable appetite for controversy, Jonson had an unparalleled breadth of influence on Jacobean and Caroline playwrights and poets.

Other Benjamin Jonson Quotes

The soul of man is infinite in what it covets.

Hope is such a bait, it covers any hook.

Talking is a disease of age.

Success produces confidence; confidence relaxes

The voice so sweet, the words so fair, As some soft chime had stroke the air; And though the sound had parted thence, Still left an echo in the sense.

Sweet Swan of Avon.

Where it concerns himself, Who's angry at a slander makes it true.

Good morning to the day: and next, my gold! Open the shrine that I may see my saint.

He that was only taught by himself had a fool for his master.

Alas, all the castles I have, are built with air, thou know'st.

Talking and eloquence are not the same: to speak and to speak well are two things. A fool may talk, but a wise man speaks.

I do honour the very flea of his dog.

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.

Of all wild beasts preserve me from a tyrant; and of all tame, a flatterer.

No man is so foolish but he may sometimes give another good counsel, and 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.

Alas, all the castles I have, are built with air....

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.

Art hath an enemy called Ignorance.

That old bald cheater, Time.

Calumnies are answered best with silence.

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.

As he brews, so shall he drink.

Criticism, as it was first instituted by Aristotle, was meant as a standard of judging well.

The dignity of truth is lost with much protesting.

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.

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!

O rare Ben Jonson! Which was done at the charge of Jack Young, who, walking there when the grave was covering, gave the fellow 18 pence to cut it. See Sir John Young

They that know no evil will suspect none.

God wisheth none should wreck on a strange shelf: To him man's dearer than to himself.

Greatness of name in the father oft-times overwhelms the son; they stand too near one another. The shadow kills the growth: so much, that we see the grandchild come more and oftener to be heir of the first.

True happiness Consists not in the multitude of friends But in the worth and choice.

Honor's a good brooch to wear in a man's hat at all times.

Who falls for love of God, shall rise a star.

Minds that are great and free, should not on fortune pause: 'Tis crown enough to virtue still, her own applause.

Get money, still get money, boy, no matter by what means.

Still to be neat, still to be drest, As you were going to a feast.

There shall be no love lost.

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.

It must be done like lightning.

He that is taught only by himself has a fool for a master.

Hang sorrow, care’ll kill a cat.

Talking and eloquence are not the same thing: to speak, and to speak well, are two things. A fool may talk, but a wise man speaks.

Called by His Majesty's household the Doctor's Own Funeral Sermon.—Preface to the first edition [1632] As sure as death.

Talking and eloquence are not the same: to speak, and to speak well are two things. A fool may talk, but a wise man speaks.

Come my Celia, let us prove, While we can, the sports of love Time will not be ours forever 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.

True happiness consists not in the multitude of friends, but in their worth and choice.

The covetous man never has money; the prodigal will have none shortly.

He that departs with his own honesty For Vulgar, doth it too dearly buy.

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.

Those that merely talk and never think, That live in the wild anarchy of drink.

Rest in soft peace, and, ask'd, say here doth lie Ben Jonson his best piece of poetry: For whose sake, henceforth, all his vows be such, As what he loves may never like too much.

To see and to be seen.

The players have often mentioned it as an honor to Shakespeare that in his writing (whatsoever he penned) he never blotted out a line. My answer hath been, 'Would he had blotted a thousand.'

Language shows a man, speak that I may see thee.

He was not of an age but for all time.

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