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 Copy Share Image
Soul of the Age! The applause! delight! the wonder of our stage! My Shakespeare, rise; I will not lodge thee by Chaucer, or Spenser,… — Ben Jonson Copy Share Image
Heaven prepares good men with crosses; but no ill can happen to a good man. — Ben Jonson Copy Share Image
All discourses but my own afflict me; they seem harsh, impertinent, and irksome — Ben Jonson Copy Share Image
Spread yourself upon his bosom publicly, whose heart you would eat in private. — Ben Jonson Copy Share Image
Rich apparel has strange virtues; it makes him that hath it without means esteemed for an excellent wit; he that enjoys it with means… — Ben Jonson Copy Share Image
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… — Ben Jonson Copy Share Image
