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Top Mother Goose Quotes

Browse top 7 famous quotes and sayings about Mother Goose by most favorite authors.

Favorite Mother Goose Quotes

1. "Mother Goose!I have never much cared for flippant remarks, especially when others make them, and in particular, I don't give a frog's fundament for them when they come from an adult."
Author: Alan Bradley
2. "Many Christians, including BioLogos, like to throw out the "you can't take the Bible literally" argument. They think it is the ultimate zinger that will end any debate in their favor. But if we shouldn't take the Bible literally, why should we believe God is real in the literal sense? Perhaps God is a metaphor also. Maybe God is really a metaphor for nature or chance. Heaven forbid! However, BioLogos insists on having it both ways: God is literally true but the Bible is not. That's like saying Mother Goose is literally true but her nursery rhymes are not."
Author: G.M. Jackson
3. "Mother Goose will show newcomers to this world how astonishing, beautiful, capricious, dancy, eccentric, funny, goluptious, haphazard, intertwingled, joyous, kindly, loving, melodious, naughty, outrageous, pomsidillious, querimonious, romantic, silly, tremendous, unexpected, vertiginous, wonderful, x-citing, yo-heave-ho-ish, and zany it is."
Author: Iona Opie
4. "Now a door slams. The kids have rushed out for the last play, the mothers are planning and slamming in kitchens, you can hear it out in swish leaf orchards, on popcorn swings, in the million-foliaged sweet wafted night of sighs, songs, shushes. A thousand things up and down the street, deep, lovely, dangerous, aureating, breathing, throbbing like stars; a whistle, a faint yell; the flow of lowell over rooftops beyond; the bark on the river, the wild goose of the night yakking, ducking in the sand and sparkle; the ululating lap and purl and lovely mystery on the shore, dark, always dark the river's cunning unseen lips murmuring kisses, eating night, stealing sand, sneaky."
Author: Jack Kerouac
5. "Staring at the floor, she didn't even look up as the final contestant entered.Not until she heard a deep, rich baritone that filled the hall with the most beautiful sound she had ever heard.Her heart pounding, she looked up to see Stryder holding his mother's lute.Only it wasn't a love song he sang.More like a limerick, it was a song about a woman who fancied herself a goose.And a man who gobbled her up.Laughter and applause rang out as soon as he strummed the last note.Breathe, breathe.It was the only thing Rowena could think. And even that couldn't get her to take a breath as Stryder approached her.He smoothed her hair and straightened her feathered crown. "Methinks my goose has molted."Rowena laughed as more tears streaked down her face."
Author: Kinley MacGregor
6. "Are we running away from home?" I asked, giving voice to the question that had been on my mind for two days, ever since the lady at the Wok On restaurant asked where we were from and my mother lied.My mother had laughed. I couldn't see her face, but her laugh I could always conjure—rich, ringing, like bells calling you to a wedding. "No, silly goose. You can't run away from home. It's not home if you want to run away from it." She paused to brush a strand of hair from my face. "You can only run away from a house. Home is something you run toward."
Author: Michele Jaffe
7. "Kindness went out to play all on a summer's day. With her about many smiles came out and joined in sweet array.Sara Loo, "Mother Goose Move Over or you're gonna love poetry"
Author: Sara Loo

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Today's Quote

Consummation Of GriefI even hear the mountainsthe way they laughup and down their blue sidesand down in the waterthe fish cryand the water is their tears.I listen to the wateron nights I drink awayand the sadness becomes so greatI hear it in my clockit becomes knobs upon my dresserit becomes paper on the floorit becomes a shoehorna laundry ticketit becomescigarette smokeclimbing a chapel of dark vines. . .it matters littlevery little love is not so bador very little lifewhat countsis waiting on wallsI was born for thisI was born to hustle roses down the avenues of the dead."
Author: Charles Bukowski

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