Best 26 quotes of Arthur Guiterman on MyQuotes

Active minds that think and study, like swift brooks are seldom muddy.

Admitting errors clears the score and proves you wiser than before.

A Man consumes the Time you make him Wait In thinking of your Faults-so don't be late!

Amoebas at the start Were not complex; They tore themselves apart And started Sex.

Don't tell your friends about your indigestion. "How are you" is a greeting, not a question.

First dentistry was painless. Then bicycles were chainless, Carriages were horseless, And many laws enforceless. Next cookery was fireless, Telegraphy was wireless, Cigars were nicotineless, And coffee caffeineless. Soon oranges were seedless, The putting green was weedless, The college boy was hatless, The proper diet fatless. New motor roads are dustless, The latest steel is rustless, Our tennis courts are sodless, Our new religion--godless.

For the young Gaels of Ireland Are the lads that drive me mad, For half their words need footnotes And half their rhymes are bad.

God, give me hills to climb, And strength for climbing!

God's Road is all uphill, but do not tire; Rejoice that we may still keep climbing higher.

It's lovely having grass and trees and flowers(Of course, at times, mosquitoes are a pest).Yes, life is life out here in Rangely Towers(Of course Some People like the city best)!

It takes a bee to get the honey out

No true reform has ever come to pass Unchallenged by a liar and an ass.

Of all cold words of tongue or pen, the worst are these: "I knew him when -

Oh the saddest of sights in a world of sin Is the little lost pup with his tail tucked in.

Oh, who would choose to be a traveler? --That anxious railway-guide unravelerWho spends his nights in berths and bunks,His days in chaperoning trunks;Who stands in line at gates and wicketsTo spend his means on costly ticketsTo Irkutsk, Liverpool and YapAnd other dots upon the map.

Porcupine, whom one must Handle, glove'd, May be Respected, but is never Loved.

Scheme not to make what's Another's your own; Be not a Dog for the sake of a Bone.

So once in every year we throng Upon a day apart, to praise the Lord with feast and song in thankfulness of heart.

The carpenter is not the best who makes more chips than all the rest.

The Cat on your hearthstone to this day presages, By solemnly sneezing, the coming of rain!

The Deer don't dineWhen a Wolf's about,And the PorcupineSticks his quill-points out.

The stones that critics hurl with harsh intent, a man may use to build his monument.

Until the Donkey tried to clear The Fence, he thought himself a Deer.

What one approves , another scorns, And thus his nature each discloses: You find the rosebush full of thorns, I find the thornbush full of roses.

When life is woe, and hope is dumb, the World says, "Go!" The Grave says, "Come!

Gentle Sir Conan, I'll venture that few have been Half as prodigiously lucky as you have been. Fortune, the flirt! has been wondrously kind to you. Ever beneficent, sweet and refined to you. Doomed to the practise of physic and surgery, Yet, growing weary of pills and physicianing, Off to the Arctic you packed, expeditioning. Roving and dreaming, Ambition, that heady sin, Gave you a spirit too restless for medicine: That, I presume, as Romance is the quest of us, Made you an Author-the same as the rest of us. Ah, but the rest of us clamor distressfully, "How do you manage the game so successfully? Tell us, disclose to us how under Heaven you Squeeze from the inkpot so splendid a revenue!" Then, when you'd published your volume that vindicates England's South African raid (or the Syndicate's), Pleading that Britain's extreme bellicosity Wasn't (as most of us think) an atrocity Straightaway they gave you a cross with a chain to it (Oh, what an honor! I could not attain to it, Not if I lived to the age of Methusalem!) Made you a knight of St. John of Jerusalem! Faith! as a teller of tales you've the trick with you! Still there's a bone I've been wanting to pick with you: Holmes is your hero of drama and serial: All of us know where you dug the material! Whence he was moulded-'tis almost a platitude; Yet your detective, in shameless ingratitude Sherlock your sleuthhound with motives ulterior Sneers at Poe's "Dupin" as "very inferior!" Labels Gaboriau's clever "Lecoq," indeed, Merely "a bungler," a creature to mock, indeed! This, when your plots and your methods in story owe More than a trifle to Poe and Gaboriau, Sets all the Muses of Helicon sorrowing. Borrow, Sir Knight, but in decent borrowing! Still let us own that your bent is a cheery one, Little you've written to bore or to weary one, Plenty that's slovenly, nothing with harm in it, Give me detective with brains analytical Rather than weaklings with morals mephitical Stories of battles and man's intrepidity Rather than wails of neurotic morbidity! Give me adventures and fierce dinotheriums Rather than Hewlett's ecstatic deliriums! Frankly, Sir Conan, some hours I've eased with you And, on the whole, I am pretty well pleased with you