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Fools may our scorn, not envy, raise. For envy is a kind of praise.

John Gay

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John Gay
Age: 47 †
Born: 1685
Born: June 30
Died: 1732
Died: December 4
Librettist
Playwright
Poet
Writer
Barnstaple
Devon
Raises
Praise
Fool
Envied
May
Envious
Kind
Scorn
Fools
Raise
Envy

More quotes by John Gay

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Envy's a sharper spur than pay: No author ever spar'd a brother Wits are gamecocks to one another.
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In beauty faults conspicuous grow The smallest speck is seen on snow.
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[Gulliver was soon being read] from the cabinet council to the nursery.
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To shoot at crows is powder flung away.
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No retreat. No retreat. They must conquer or die who've no retreat.
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A man is always afraid of a woman that loves him too much
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Lions, wolves, and vultures don't live together in herds, droves or flocks. Of all animals of prey, man is the only sociable one. Every one of us preys upon his neighbor, and yet we herd together.
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To frame the little animal, provide All the gay hues that wait on female pride: Let Nature guide thee sometimes golden wire The shining bellies of the fly require The peacock's plumes thy tackle must not fail, Nor the dear purchase of the sable's tail.
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Do you think your mother and I should have lived comfortably so long together, if ever we had been married? Baggage!
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Gamesters and highwaymen are generally very good to their whores, but they are very devils to their wives.
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Sure men were born to lie, and women to believe them!
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A rich rogue nowadays is fit company for any gentleman and the world, my dear, hath not such a contempt for roguery as you imagine.
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I cannot raise my worth too high Of what vast consequence am I! Not of the importance you suppose, Replies a Flea upon his nose Be humble, learn thyself to scan Know, pride was never made for man.
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She who has never lov'd, has never liv'd.
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The luxury of doing good surpasses every other personal enjoyment.
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Youth's the season made for joys, Love is then our duty.
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Some folks of cider make a rout And cider's well enough no doubt When better liquors fail But wine, that's richer, better still, Ev'n wine itself (deny't who will) Must yield to nappy ale
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Learning by study must be won 'Twas ne'er entail'd from son to son.
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Whence is thy learning? Hath thy toil O'er books consumed the midnight oil?
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Nor love, not honor, wealth nor power, can give the heart a cheerful hour when health is lost. Be timely wise With health all taste of pleasure flies.
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