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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!

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
Ever
Long
Think
Comfortably
Thinking
Baggage
Lived
Married
Mother
Together

More quotes by John Gay

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Sure men were born to lie, and women to believe them!
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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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[Gulliver was soon being read] from the cabinet council to the nursery.
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Fools may our scorn, not envy, raise. For envy is a kind of praise.
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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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Youth's the season made for joys, Love is then our duty.
John Gay
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Gamesters and highwaymen are generally very good to their whores, but they are very devils to their wives.
John Gay
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If the heart of a man is depressed with cares, The mist is dispelled when a woman appears.
John Gay
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Fair words cost nothing.
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To friendship every burden's light.
John Gay
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Shall ignorance of good and ill Dare to direct the eternal will? Seek virtue, and of that possest, To Providence resign the rest.
John Gay
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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?
John Gay
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Fair is the kingcup that in meadow blows, Fair is the daisy that beside her grows.
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The luxury of doing good surpasses every other personal enjoyment.
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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.
John Gay
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Envy is a kind of praise.
John Gay
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Fair is the marigold, for pottage meet.
John Gay
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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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Whence is thy learning? Hath thy toil O'er books consumed the midnight oil?
John Gay
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To shoot at crows is powder flung away.
John Gay