Quotes to inspire and reflect

Sukey, take it off again, They’ve all gone away.

Polly, put the kettle on, We’ll all have tea.

I had a little pony, His name was Dapple Gray; I lent him to a lady To ride a mile away. She whipped him, she slashed him, She rode him through the mire; I would not lend my pony now For all the lady’s hire.

One flew east, one flew west, One flew over the cuckoo’s nest.

A dillar, a dollar, A ten o’clock scholar, What makes you come so soon? You used to come at ten o’clock, And now you come at noon.

Lavender’s blue, dilly dilly, lavender’s green; When I am king, dilly dilly, you shall be queen.

There was an old woman Lived under a hill; And if she’s not gone, She lives there still.

There was a little man, and he had a little gun, And his bullets were made of lead, lead, lead; He went to the brook, and saw a little duck, And shot it through the head, head, head.

To market, to market, to buy a fat pig, Home again, home again, jiggety-jig.

Doctor Foster went to Gloucester In a shower of rain; He stepped in a puddle, up to his middle, And never went there again.

O do you know the muffin man, The muffin man, the muffin man, O do you know the muffin man, That lives in Drury Lane?

All day they hunted, And nothing did they find, But a ship a-sailing, A-sailing with the wind.

There were three jolly huntsmen, As I have heard them say, And they would go a-hunting Upon St. David’s Day.

Lucy Locket lost her pocket, Kitty Fisher found it; There was not a penny in it, But a ribbon round it.

In fir tar is, In oak none is. In mud eel is, In clay none is. Goats eat ivy. Mares eat oats.

Rub-a-dub-dub, Three men in a tub, And who do you think they be? The butcher, the baker, The candlestick-maker; And all of them went to sea!

There was a crooked man, and he went a crooked mile, He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile; He bought a crooked cat, which caught a crooked mouse, And they all lived together in a little crooked house.

Diddle diddle dumpling, my son John, He went to bed with his stockings on; One shoe off, one shoe on; Diddle diddle dumpling, my son John.

Jack, be nimble, Jack, be quick, Jack, jump over the candlestick.

Peter, Peter Pumpkin-Eater, Had a wife and couldn’t keep her. He put her in a pumpkin shell, And there he kept her very well.

Little Miss Muffet Sat on a tuffet, Eating some curds and whey. Along came a spider, And sat down beside her, And frightened Miss Muffet away.

Hickety pickety, my black hen, She lays eggs for gentlemen. Gentlemen come every day To see what my black hen doth lay.

What are little boys made of? Snips and snails, and puppy dogs’ tails; That’s what little boys are made of.

What are little girls made of? Sugar and spice, and everything nice; That’s what little girls are made of.

Monday’s child is fair of face, Tuesday’s child is full of grace, Wednesday’s child is full of woe, Thursday’s child has far to go, Friday’s child is loving and giving, Saturday’s child has to work for its living, But a child that’s born on the Sabbath day Is fair and wise and good and gay.

Solomon Grundy, Born on a Monday, Christened on Tuesday, Married on Wednesday, Took ill on Thursday, Worse on Friday, Died on Saturday, Buried on Sunday: This is the end Of Solomon Grundy.

Pussy cat, pussy cat, where have you been? I’ve been to London to look at the queen. Pussy cat, pussy cat, what did you there? I frightened a little mouse under the chair.

Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers; A peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked. If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers, Where’s the peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked?

Old mother Hubbard Went to the cupboard, To fetch her poor dog a bone; But when she came there The cupboard was bare, And so the poor dog had none.

The north wind doth blow, And we shall have snow, And what will poor robin do then, Poor thing? He’ll sit in a barn, To keep himself warm, And hide his head under his wing, Poor thing!

There was an old woman tossed in a blanket, Seventeen times as high as the moon; But where she was going no mortal could tell, For under her arm she carried a broom. Old woman, old woman, old woman, said I, Whither, ah whither, ah whither so high? To sweep the cobwebs from the sky, And I’ll be with you by and by.

Little Polly Flinders Sat among the cinders, Warming her pretty little toes. Her mother came and caught her, And whipped her little daughter For spoiling her nice new clothes.

Little Bo-peep has lost her sheep, And cannot tell where to find them; Leave them alone, and they’ll come home, And bring their tails behind them.

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, Humpty Dumpty had a great fall; All the king’s horses And all the king’s men Couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty together again.

I had a little nut tree, nothing would it bear But a silver nutmeg and a golden pear; The king of Spain’s daughter came to visit me, And all for the sake of my little nut tree.

Curlylocks, Curlylocks, Wilt thou be mine? Thou shalt not wash dishes Nor yet feed the swine, But sit on a cushion And sew a fine seam, And feed upon strawberries, Sugar and cream.

One a penny, two a penny, hot cross buns; If you have no daughters, give them to your sons.

Pease-porridge hot, pease-porridge cold, Pease-porridge in the pot, nine days old.

“Nobody asked you, sir,” she said.

“My face is my fortune, sir,” she said.

Tom, Tom, the piper’s son, Stole a pig, and away he run; The pig was eat, and Tom was beat, And Tom went howling down the street.

“Where are you going to, my pretty maid?” “I’m going a-milking, sir,” she said.

Tom, Tom, the piper’s son, He learned to play when he was young. But all the tune that he could play Was “Over the hills and far away.”

Ride a cockhorse to Banbury Cross, To see a fine lady upon a white horse; Rings on her fingers and bells on her toes, She shall have music wherever she goes.

There was an old woman who lived in a shoe, She had so many children she didn’t know what to do; She gave them some broth without any bread, She whipped them all soundly and put them to bed.

Sing a song of sixpence, A pocket full of rye, Four and twenty blackbirds, Baked in a pie; When the pie was opened, The birds began to sing; Wasn’t that a dainty dish To set before a king? The king was in his countinghouse Counting out his money; The queen was in the parlor Eating bread and honey; The maid was in the garden Hanging out the clothes, Along came a blackbird, And snipped off her nose.

Four and twenty tailors went to kill a snail, The best man among them durst not touch her tail. She put out her horns like a little Kyloe cow, Run, tailors, run, or she’ll kill you all e’en now.

Goosey goosey gander, Whither shall I wander? Upstairs and downstairs, And in my lady’s chamber; There I met an old man who wouldn’t say his prayers; I took him by the left leg And threw him down the stairs.