Quotes
Quotes - Jonson
The gods Grow angry with your patience. 'Tis their care, And must be yours, that guilty men escape not: As crimes do grow, justice should rouse itself.
But I do hate him as I hate the devil.
Great honours are great burdens, but on whom They are cast with envy, he doth bear two loads. His cares must still be double to his joys, In any dignity.
And I had lent my watch last night to one That dines to-day at the sheriff's.
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.
So wise, so grave, of so perplex'd a tongue, And loud withal, that would not wag, not scarce Lie still without a fee.
Laugh, and be fat, sir, your penance is known. They that love mirth, let them heartily drink, 'Tis the only receipt to make sorrow sink.
Small Latin, and less Greek.
If you be sick, your own thoughts make you sick.
Yet the best pilots have need of mariners, besides sails, anchor and other tackle.
--They write here one Cornelius--Son Hath made the Hollanders an invisible eel To swim the haven at Dunkirk, and sink all The shipping there. --But how is't done? --I'll show you, sir. It is automa, runs under water With a snug nose, and has a nimble tail Made like an auger, with which tail she wriggles Betwixt the costs of a ship and sinks it straight.
Pleasure the servant, Virtue looking on.
O what is it proud slime will not believe Of his own worth, to hear it equal praised Thus with the gods?
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 prince without letters is a Pilot without eyes. All his government is groping.
They say Princes learn no art truly, but the art of horsemanship. The reason is, the brave beast is no flatterer. He will throw a Prince as soon as his groom.
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?
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.
This figure that thou here seest put, It was for gentle Shakespeare cut, Wherein the graver had a strife With Nature, to outdo the life: Oh, could he but have drawn his wit As well in brass, as he has hit His face, the print would then surpass All that was ever writ in brass; But since he cannot, reader, look Not on his picture, but his book.
For a good poet's made, as well as born, And such wast thou! Look how the father's face Lives in his issue; even so the race Of Shakespeare's mind and manner brightly shine In his well-turned and true-filed lines; In each of which he seems to shake a lance, As brandished at the eyes of ignorance.
He was not of an age, but for all time! And all the Muses still were in their prime, When, like Apollo, he came forth to warm Our ears, or like a Mercury to charm!
Nature herself was proud of his designs, And joyed to wear the dressing of his lines! Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit, As since, she will vouchsafe no other wit.
See and to be seen.
Where it concerns himself, Who's angry at a slander, makes it true.
Cut Men's throats with whisperings.
