C. J. Dennis Quotes

It’s bad enough to be a bloke without one reel close friend;
But when your dog gives you the bird it’s pretty near the end.

Now, a woman, she’s a woman. I ’ave fixed that for a cert.
They’re jist as like as rows uv peas from ’at to ’em uv skirt.
An’ then, they’re all so different, yeh find, before yeh’ve done,
The more yeh know uv all uv ’em the less yeh know uv one.

For many years it has been my habit to divide gardeners into three classes. These are professional gardeners, professional amateur gardeners, and amateur amateur gardeners.

I sometimes think stone is too precious truly, Bronze far too permanent for human clods
Whom men rush in to celebrate unduly: Immortal stuff is for immortal gods
Carved by great artists. Let the celebration Of men be in such stuff as may be pulped;
Reserve the rock for glorious inspiration: Venus to pose, to sculpt.

But it must not be thought that I abjure all physical effort. Only the day before yesterday I pulled up a dandelion. Next week I shall probably be busy pulling up the two other dandelions that will inevitably spring up in that place to avenge their brother. Dandelions are like that.

I disapprove of people who moot things.

You might grow bored with being good;
And, furthermore, I think you would.

Love is a gamble, an' there ain't no certs.

To mock the tree-lined highways of our dreaming, Winding to pleasant plains and sunlit hills,
Loud-speakers yet may blare 'mid billboards screaming To hymn the praise of someone’s priceless pills.

Livin' an' lovin'; learnin' to fergive The deeds an' words of some un'appy bloke
Who's missed the bus—so 'ave I come to live, An' take the 'ole mad world as 'arf a joke.

They say the whole world’s down and out; But here’s what I can’t see:
If every land, beyond all doubt,
In all the earth is up the spout— Then who's the mortgagee?

Farmer! That's me! Wiv this 'ere strong right 'and I've gripped the plough; and blistered jist a treat.
Doreen an' me 'as gone upon the land. Yours truly fer the burden an' the 'eat!

Oh, to be in England Now that Summer’s there!
For who plays the Game in England Is each morning well aware
That the cricket-pitch is water-logged,
And the in-field’s wet and the out-field’s bogged: For it’s surely raining, anyhow, In England—now!

Yeh live, yeh love, yeh learn; an' when yeh come To square the ledger in some thortful hour,
The everlastin' answer to the sum Must allus be, "Where's sense in gittin' sour?"

"Wot's in a name?" she sez. 'Struth, I dunno.
Billo is just as good as Romeo.