Oliver Goldsmith Quotes

Sky and clouds and trees and little figures relaxing in the perfect rural rhythm of their surroundings: these are the staples of a Gainsborough landscape.

I seldom meet with characters so inoffensive as my hens and chickings, or minds so well improved as my garden.

I was a countryman and a father before I was a writer on political subjects... Born and bred up in the sweet air myself, I was resolved that my children should be bred up in it too.

In this sequestered nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard seat And birds and flowers once more to greet. . . .

The country life near Manchester I really love.

Where I live is about an hour and a half West of London. I live in the countryside... It's a classic little village, and it's idyllic in a lot of ways.

All the real things in Russia are done in the villages.

I grew up in a mud house, in a small village.

I was born at home in rural Japan.

As I walked in the woods to see the birds and squirrels, so I walked in the village to see the men and boys; instead of the wind among the pines I heard the carts rattle. In one direction from my house there was a colony of muskrats in the river meadows; under the grove of elms and buttonwoods in the other horizon was a village of busy men, as curious to me as if they had been prarie-dogs, each sitting at the mouth of its burrow, or running over to a neighbor's to gossip. I went there frequently to observe their habits.

deep in the meadow , under the willow , a bed of grass , a soft green pillow

Let beeves and home-bred kine partake The sweets of Burn-mill meadow; The swan on still St. Mary's Lake Float double, swan and shadow!

And gentle winds and waters near, make music to the lonely ear.

But animated nature sweeter still, to soothe and satisfy the human ear.

A late lark twitters from the quiet skies.

Fifty years from now Britain will still be the country of long shadows on county grounds, warm beer, invincible green suburbs, dog lovers and pools fillers and - as George Orwell said - “old maids bicycling to Holy Communion through the morning mist” and if we get our way - Shakespeare still read even in school.

Would it not be better to go home and live at the family park all the year round, and hunt, and attend Quarter Sessions, and be able to declare morning and evening with a clear conscience that the country was going to the dogs? Such was the mental working of many a Conservative who supported Mr. Daubeny on this occasion.

But I've often said that if I had – I have two dogs – if I had two retarded children, I'd be a hero. And yet the dogs, which are pretty much the same thing. What? They're sweet. They're loving. They're kind, but they don't mentally advance at all. Dogs are like retarded children.

Then the children went to bed, or at least went upstairs, and the men joined the women for a cigarette on the porch, absently picking ticks engorged like grapes off the sleeping dogs. And when the men kissed the women good night, and their weekend whiskers scratched the women's cheeks, the women did not think shave, they thought stay.

Clouds sink down the hills Coffee is hot again. The dog Turns and turns about, stops and sleeps.

Life's most soothing things are a child's goodnight and sweet music.

Children and dogs are as necessary to the welfare of the country as Wall Street and the railroads.

Aristocrats have heirs; the poor have children; the rest keep dogs.

And hie him home, at evening's close, To sweet repast and calm repose.