The goose that has a good gander cackles loudly.
Related quotes
Cliches On Justice
What goes around comes around
your foolishness will go back to your own body
What's good for the goose is good for the gander
You got your just desserts
you cannot eat your cake and have it too
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
What's good for the goose is good for the gander.
The goose that has lost its head no longer cackles.
The Goose-Girl
I WANDERED lonely by the sea,
As is my daily use,
I saw her drive across the lea
The gander and the goose.
The gander and the gray, gray goose,
She drove them all together;
Her cheeks were rose, her gold hair loose,
All in the wild gray weather.
'O dainty maid who drive the geese
Across the common wide,
Turn, turn your pretty back on these
And come and be my bride.
I am a poet from the town,
And, 'mid the ladies there,
There is not one would wear a crown
With half your charming air!'
She laughed, she shook her pretty head.
'I want no poet's hand;
Go read your fairy-books,' she said,
'For this is fairy-land.
My Prince comes riding o'er the leas;
He fitly comes to woo,
For I'm a Princess, and my geese
Were poets, once, like you!'
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Laissez Faire was very good sauce for the goose, labor, but was very poor sauce for the gander, capital.
quote by Benjamin Tucker
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
For Salu Salu
the world has changed.
and new adages are
worded:
a friend in need
is a friend to avoid.
do unto others first
before others do unto you.
and the truth has taken
the shades of the rainbow
what is good for the gander
need not be good for the goose
but we can force it
despite an oppression
of taste and culture
one must take shelter
in the shadow of the self
otherwise one gets lost
in the labyrinths of others.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Goose and gander and gosling are three sounds but one thing.
Gloria, Can You Waddle
Gloria, can you waddle, ah, ah?
Hey, baby can I dance with you?
I will show you something very good
Im your gander youre my goose
And this is something new for you, oh hear me!
Gloria, can you waddle, ah, ah?
Gloria, can you waddle, ah, ah?
Hey, baby come and dance with me
Its an old dance of the early sixties
All the guys and all the girls were freaked
By this dance of our gees, oh hear me!
Gloria, can you waddle, ah, ah?
Gloria, can you waddle, ah, ah?
Gloria, can you waddle, ah, ah?
Gloria, can you waddle, ah, ah?
Hey, baby can I dance with you?
I will show you something very good
Im your gander, youre my goose
And this is something new for you, oh hear me!
Gloria, can you waddle, ah, ah?
Gloria, can you waddle, ah, ah?
Can you waddle, ah, ah?
Can you waddle, ah, ah?
Can you waddle, ah, ah?
Can you (gloria) waddle, ah, ah?
Can you waddle, ah, ah?
Gloria, can you waddle, ah, ah?
Gloria, can you waddle, ah, ah?
Gloria
song performed by by Boney M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The female has little choice.
Man for woman and gander for goose
Are the only choice to be love mates.
There is no other go that they must know.
Women and geese can accept or escape.
09.08.2004
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
What is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.
quote by Marcus Terentius Varro
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
What's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.
What is sauce for the goose may be sauce for the gander but is not necessarily sauce for the chicken, the duck, the turkey or the guinea hen.
quote by Alice B. Toklas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Love Sonnet 152 Pray, Tell Me, Why Creation Comes In Pairs
Pray, tell me, why creation comes in pairs,
Why goose be there, where so goes the gander,
Why should matching twains fill the beastly lairs,
Why the Lord parted joy, made me wonder;
Can't the wanting fool, feel happy alone,
Should emptiness cause loneliness to start,
Can't my passion be, just as cold as stone,
Why my longings been for my other part;
Truth salves in vain, hearts that writhe in pain,
Only when goose, would to its nest, return,
Will its brood, find life, complete again,
Even when mending bridges, that still burn;
.....Life's puzzle seems so purposely replete,
.....With missing pieces, for us, to complete.
poem by Reyvrex Questor Reyes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Let me close as I did in Gander on September 11, 2002 when I went to that community to thank the people of Gander and the people of Canada for the overwhelming support and help that was given to us in the wake of those attacks on September 11, 2001.
quote by Paul Cellucci
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
It is a no good hen, that cackles in your house and lays in another's.
The Progress of Poetry
The Farmer's Goose, who in the Stubble,
Has fed without Restraint, or Trouble;
Grown fat with Corn and Sitting still,
Can scarce get o'er the Barn-Door Sill:
And hardly waddles forth, to cool
Her Belly in the neighb'ring Pool:
Nor loudly cackles at the Door;
For Cackling shews the Goose is poor.
But when she must be turn'd to graze,
And round the barren Common strays,
Hard Exercise, and harder Fare
Soon make my Dame grow lank and spare:
Her Body light, she tries her Wings,
And scorns the Ground, and upward springs,
While all the Parish, as she flies,
Hear Sounds harmonious from the Skies.
Such is the Poet, fresh in Pay,
(The third Night's Profits of his Play;)
His Morning-Draughts 'till Noon can swill,
Among his Brethren of the Quill:
With good Roast Beef his Belly full,
Grown lazy, foggy, fat, and dull:
Deep sunk in Plenty, and Delight,
What Poet e'er could take his Flight?
Or stuff'd with Phlegm up to the Throat,
What Poet e'er could sing a Note?
Nor Pegasus could bear the Load,
Along the high celestial Road;
The Steed, oppress'd, would break his Girth,
To raise the Lumber from the Earth.
But, view him in another Scene,
When all his Drink is Hippocrene,
His Money spent, his Patrons fail,
His Credit out for Cheese and Ale;
His Two-Year's Coat so smooth and bare,
Through ev'ry Thread it lets in Air;
With hungry Meals his Body pin'd,
His Guts and Belly full of Wind;
And, like a Jockey for a Race,
His Flesh brought down to Flying-Case:
Now his exalted Spirit loaths
Incumbrances of Food and Cloaths;
And up he rises like a Vapour,
Supported high on Wings of Paper;
He singing flies, and flying sings,
While from below all Grub-street rings.
poem by Jonathan Swift
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!