Oliver Goldsmith

The best-humour'd man, with the worst-humour'd Muse.

When he talked of their Raphaels, Correggios, and stuff, He shifted his trumpet and only took snuff.

Who peppered the highest was surest to please.

He cast off his friends as a huntsman his pack, For he knew when he pleased he could whistle them back.

On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting; 'Twas only that when he was off he was acting.

As a wit, if not first, in the very first line.

Here lies David Garrick, describe me, who can, An abridgment of all that was pleasant in man.

A flattering painter, who made it his care To draw men as they ought to be, not as they are.

His conduct still right, with his argument wrong.

Who mix'd reason with pleasure, and wisdom with mirth: If he had any faults, he has left us in doubt.

Our Garrick's a salad; for in him we see Oil, vinegar, sugar, and saltness agree!

We modest Gentlemen don't want for much success among the women.

Baw! Damme, but I'll fight you both, one after the other! With baskets.

Oh sir! I must not tell my age. They say women and music should never be dated.

Ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no fibs.

Travellers, George, must pay in all places: the only difference is, that in good inns, you pay dearly for your luxuries, and in bad inns you are fleeced and starved.

They liked the book the better the more it made them cry.

We are the boys That fear no noise Where the thundering cannons roar.

The first blow is half the battle.

A modest woman, dressed out in all her finery, is the most tremendous object of the whole creation.

I'll be with you in the squeezing of a lemon.

Let schoolmasters puzzle their brain, With grammar, and nonsense, and learning; Good liquor, I stoutly maintain, Gives genus a better discerning.

The genteel thing is the genteel thing any time, if as be that a gentleman bees in a concatenation accordingly.

The very pink of perfection.