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Youth's the season made for joys, Love is then our duty.

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
Love
Joys
Season
Seasons
Youth
Duty
Joy
Made

More quotes by John Gay

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To shoot at crows is powder flung away.
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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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Whence is thy learning? Hath thy toil O'er books consumed the midnight oil?
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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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To friendship every burden's light.
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You can only be called a hypocrite if you judge others first.
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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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Fools may our scorn, not envy, raise. For envy is a kind of praise.
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Can love be controll'd by advice?
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What will not luxury taste? Earth, sea, and air, Are daily ransack'd for the bill of fare. Blood stuffed in skins is British Christians' food, And France robs marshes of the croaking brood.
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Music might tame and civilize wild beasts, but 'tis evident it never yet could tame and civilize musicians.
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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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No retreat. No retreat. They must conquer or die who've no retreat.
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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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Sure men were born to lie, and women to believe them!
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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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Learning by study must be won 'Twas ne'er entail'd from son to son.
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Fair is the kingcup that in meadow blows, Fair is the daisy that beside her grows.
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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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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.
John Gay