Quotes to inspire and reflect

For you dream you are crossing the Channel, and tossing about in a steamer from Harwich— Which is something between a large bathing machine and a very small second-class carriage.

When you’re lying awake with a dismal headache, and repose is taboo’d by anxiety, I conceive you may use any language you choose to indulge in, without impropriety.

Here’s a pretty kettle of fish!

The House of Peers, throughout the war, Did nothing in particular,

I often think it’s comical How nature always does contrive That every boy and every gal, That’s born into the world alive, Is either a little Liberal, Or else a little Conservative!

When I went to the Bar as a very young man (Said I to myself, said I).

For I’m not so old, and not so plain, And I’m quite prepared to marry again.

Pretty young wards in Chancery.

The Law is the true embodiment Of everything that’s excellent. It has no kind of fault or flaw, And I, my Lords, embody the Law.

Bow, bow, ye lower middle classes! Bow, bow, ye tradesmen, bow, ye masses.

None shall part us from each other, One in life and death are we: All in all to one another— I to thee and thou to me! Thou the tree and I the flower— Thou the idol; I the throng— Thou the day and I the hour— Thou the singer; I the song!

I see no objection to stoutness, in moderation.

A greenery-yallery, Grosvenor Gallery, Foot-in-the-grave young man!

Francesca da Rimini, miminy, piminy, Je-ne-sais-quoi young man!

Though the Philistines may jostle, you will rank as an apostle in the high aesthetic band, If you walk down Piccadilly with a poppy or a lily in your medieval hand. And everyone will say, As you walk your flowery way, “If he’s content with a vegetable love, which would certainly not suit me, Why, what a most particularly pure young man this pure young man must be!”

Prithee, pretty maiden, will you marry me? (Hey, but I’m hopeful, willow, willow, waly!)

You must lie upon the daisies and discourse in novel phrases of your complicated state of mind, The meaning doesn’t matter if it’s only idle chatter of a transcendental kind. And everyone will say, As you walk your mystic way, “If this young man expresses himself in terms too deep for me, Why, what a very singularly deep young man this deep young man must be!”

Come, friends, who plow the sea, Let’s vary piracee With a little burglaree. 1

When the foeman bares his steel, We uncomfortable feel,

When constabulary duty’s to be done, The policeman’s lot is not a happy one.

I am the very model of a modern Major-General. I’ve information vegetable, animal, and mineral, I know the Kings of England, and I quote the fights historical, From Marathon to Waterloo, in order categorical.

It is, it is a glorious thing To be a Pirate King.

He is an Englishman! For he himself has said it, And it’s greatly to his credit, That he is an Englishman!

For he might have been a Roosian, A French or Turk or Proosian, Or perhaps Itali-an. But in spite of all temptations To belong to other nations, He remains an Englishman.

Stick close to your desks and never go to sea, And you all may be Rulers of the Queen’s Navee!

Things are seldom what they seem, Skim milk masquerades as cream.

When I was a lad I served a term As office boy to an Attorney’s firm. I cleaned the windows and I swept the floor And I polished up the handle of the big front door. I polished up that handle so carefullee That now I am the Ruler of the Queen’s Navee!

And so do his sisters, and his cousins, and his aunts! His sisters and his cousins, Whom he reckons up by dozens, And his aunts!

And I’m never, never sick at sea! He’s hardly ever sick at sea! Then give three cheers, and one cheer more For the hardy Captain of the Pinafore!

I am the Captain of the Pinafore; And a right good captain too!

I’m called Little Buttercup—dear little Buttercup, Though I could never tell why.

As innocent as a new-laid egg.

He thought he saw an Albatross That fluttered round the lamp: He looked again, and found it was A penny postage stamp. “You’d best be getting home,” he said, “The nights are very damp.”

Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold And the mate of the Nancy brig, And a bo’sun tight, and a midshipmite, And the crew of the captain’s gig.

He thought he saw an Elephant, That practiced on a fife: He looked again, and found it was A letter from his wife. “At length I realize,” he said, “The bitterness of Life!”

He thought he saw a Buffalo Upon the chimneypiece: He looked again, and found it was His sister’s husband’s niece.

For the Snark was a Boojum, you see.

They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with care; They pursued it with forks and hope; They threatened its life with a railway share; They charmed it with smiles and soap.

It is this, it is this that oppresses my soul.

There was silence supreme! Not a shriek, not a scream, Scarcely even a howl or a groan, As the man they called “Ho!” told his story of woe In an antediluvian tone.

It frequently breakfasts at five-o’clock tea, And dines on the following day.

“What’s the good of Mercator’s North Poles and Equators, Tropics, Zones and Meridian Lines?” So the Bellman would cry: and the crew would reply, “They are merely conventional signs!”

He would answer to “Hi!” or to any loud cry Such as “Fry me!” or “Fritter my wig!” To “What-you-may-call-um!” or But especially “Thing-um-a-jig!”

His answer trickled through my head, Like water through a sieve.

“I weep for you,” the Walrus said: “I deeply sympathize.” With sobs and tears he sorted out Those of the largest size, Holding his pocket-handkerchief Before his streaming eyes.

But answer came there none 6 — And this was scarcely odd, because They’d eaten every one.

The Carpenter said nothing but “The butter’s spread too thick!”

“But wait a bit,” the Oysters cried, “Before we have our chat; For some of us are out of breath, And all of us are fat!”