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A man is always afraid of a woman that loves him too much

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
Afraid
Woman
Much
Always
Men
Loves

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My lodging is on the cold ground, And hard, very hard, is my fare, But that which grieves me more Is the coldness of my dear.
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Envy is a kind of praise.
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You can only be called a hypocrite if you judge others first.
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Fools may our scorn, not envy, raise. For envy is a kind of praise.
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The careful insect 'midst his works I view, Now from the flowers exhaust the fragrant dew, With golden treasures load his little thighs, And steer his distant journey through the skies.
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The charge is prepared the lawyers are met The judges all ranged (a terrible show!) I go, undismay'd. For death is a debt, A debt on demand. So take what I owe.
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Fair words cost nothing.
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To shoot at crows is powder flung away.
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Why is the hearse with scutcheons blazon'd round, And with the nodding plume of ostrich crown'd? No the dead know it not, nor profit gain It only serves to prove the living vain.
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She who has never lov'd, has never liv'd.
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I must have women - there is nothing unbends the mind like them.
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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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[Gulliver was soon being read] from the cabinet council to the nursery.
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Can you support the expense of a husband, hussy, in gaming, drinking and whoring? Have you money enough to carry on the daily quarrels of man and wife about who shall squander most?
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Around the steel no tortur'd worm shall twine, No blood of living insect stain my line Let me, less cruel, cast the feather'd hook, With pliant rod athwart the pebbled brook, Silent along the mazy margin stray, And with the fur-wrought fly delude the prey.
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Is there no hope? the sick man said, The silent doctor shook his head, And took his leave with signs of sorrow, Despairing of his fee to-morrow.
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Fair is the kingcup that in meadow blows, Fair is the daisy that beside her grows.
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Breathe soft, ye winds! ye waves, in silence sleep!
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Envy's a sharper spur than pay.
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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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