W. S. Gilbert (1836 – 1911)
English dramatist and librettist best known for his operatic collaborations with the composer Arthur Sullivan.
An attachment ? la Plato for a bashful young potato, or a not-too-French French bean!
What, never? / No, never! / What, never? / Well, hardly ever!
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.
Oh, philosophers may sing
Of the troubles of a King,
But of pleasures there are many and of worries there are none;
And the culminating pleasure
That we treasure beyond measure
Is the gratifying feeling that our duty has been done.
Great Britain is that monarchy sublime,
To which some add (but others do not) Ireland.
Art stopped short at the cultivated court of the Empress Josephine.
I know what love is. There was a happy time when I didn't, but bitter experience has taught me.
Now landsmen all, whoever you may be,
If you want to rise to the top of the tree,
If your soul isn't fettered to an office stool,
Be careful to be guided by this golden rule—
Stick close to your desks and never go to sea,
And you all may be Rulers of the Queen's Navee.
A popular speaker, however unpopular and insignificant, has only to wind up his speech with half-a-dozen lines of Shakespeare (and to make it clearly understood that they are Shakespeare's) and he will sit down amid thunders of applause.
She may very well pass for forty three
In the dusk with the light behind her.
The House of Peers, thoughout the war
Did nothing in particular
And did it very well.
Things are seldom what they seem;
Skim milk masquerades as cream.
Man is nature's sole mistake.
Of that there is no manner of doubt -
No probable, possible shadow of doubt -
No possible doubt whatever.
Pooh Bah: This professional conscientiousness is highly creditable to you, but it places us in a very awkward position.
Koko: Your position is grace itself compared to that of a man in the act of chopping off his own head!
From such a face and form as mine, the noblest sentiments sound like the black utterances of a depraved imagination!
It's human nature! I'm resigned.
Oh! my name is John Wellington Wells,
I'm a dealer in magic and spells,
In blessings and curses
And ever-filled purses,
In prophecies, witches, and knells.
If you want a proud foe to "make tracks"--
If you'd melt a rich uncle in wax--
You've but to look in
On our resident Djinn,
Number seventy, Simmery Axe!
When your process of extermination begins, let our deaths be as swift and painless as you can conveniently make them.
...a Man, however well-behav’d,
At best is only a monkey shav’d!