A Quote by George Wither

Hang sorrow! care will kill a cat,And therefore let 's be merry. — © George Wither
Hang sorrow! care will kill a cat,And therefore let 's be merry.
Hang sorrow, care'll kill a cat.
What though care killed a cat, thou hast mettle enough in thee to kill care.
Oh cat, I'd say, or pray: be-ootiful cat! Delicious cat! Exquisite cat! Satiny cat! Cat like a soft owl, cat with paws like moths, jewelled cat, miraculous cat! Cat, cat, cat, cat.
I don’t care if the cat is black or white, I just want it to kill the mice.
It's like a razor blade edging its way through my organs, shredding me, all I can think is: It will kill me, it will kill me, it will kill me. And I don't care.
We journalists tell the public which way the cat is jumping. The public will take care of the cat.
We [journalists] tell the public which way the cat is jumping. The public will take care of the cat.
In Egypt: Under no conditions, under threat of death could anyone kill a cat. People were exceuted for even killing a cat accidentally. And when a cat died, the whole family, and probably their closest friends, went into mourning, the measure of their personal loss signalled by their shaving off their eyebrows.
We tell the public which way the cat is jumping. The public will take care of the cat.
Be merry all, be merry all, With holly dress the festive hall; Prepare the song, the feast, the ball, To welcome merry Christmas.
For the good are always the merry, / Save by an evil chance,/ And the merry love the fiddle,/ And the merry love to dance: / And when the folk there spy me,/ They will all come up to me, / With,”Here is the fiddler of Dooney!” / And dance like a wave of the sea.
O merry, merry, merry, like only dogs know how to be happy and nothing more, with an absolute shameless nature.
Care draws on care, woe comforts woe again, Sorrow breeds sorrow, on grief brings forth twain.
I held out the painting of the cat and the snake. “It’s a cat and a snake,” Thoth said. Thank you, god of wisdom. You placed it for us to find, didn’t you? You’re trying to give us some sort of clue.” “Who, me?” Just kill him, Horus said. Shut up, I said. At least kill the guitar.
Few places in this world are more dangerous than home. Fear not, therefore, to try the mountain passes. They will kill care, save you from deadly apathy, set you free, and call forth every faculty into vigorous, enthusiastic action.
He will kill mice and he will be kind to babies...but when the moon gets up and the night comes, he is the Cat that Walks by Himself.
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