Josh Billings - The Complete Works of Josh Billings

I waz in love once miself for 7 long years, and mi friends all sed i had a consupshun, but i knu all the time what ailed me, but couldn’t deskribe it.

Now all that i kan rekolekt about this luv sikness iz, that for thoze 7 long years i waz, if enny thing, rather more ov a kondem phool than ordinary.

Love iz an honorabel disseaze enuff tew hav, bekauze it iz natral; but enny phellow who haz laid sik with it for 7 long years, after he gits over it, feels sumthing like the phellow who haz phell down on the ice when it iz verry wet – he dont feel like talking about it before folks.

Sum pholks think fear iz the result ov edukashun, but i dont.

I notiss that thoze who are edukated the most, and thoze who are edukated the least, are troubled with fear just alike.

Fear and courage are instinkts.

A man who iz a koward iz born so, and, when he iz full ov skare, hiz hare on hiz hed will git up on end, I dont kare how mutch edukashun yu pile on top ov it.

The gratest kowards in the world are the men ov the most genius – they are the most silly kowards.

One ov theze kind ov men will quake with fear when a mouse knaws in the wainskote at night, but they will face an earthquake next day with composure.

I dont kno ov a more terrible sensashun than fear; it iz deth when it exhausts itself and ends in despair.

I am a grate koward miself, and beleave i waz born so, and yet thare is nothing which i despize so mutch as kowardice.

I would give all the other virtews i hav got (provided i hav got enny), and throw in a hundred dollars in munny besides, for an unlimited supply ov courage.

I would like tew hav courage enuff tew face the devil himself, if he waz the least bit sassy tew to me.

I am satisfied that courage iz an instinkt, for i notiss all the animal kreashun hav it well defined.

Buty iz a very handy thing tew hav, espeshily for a woman who aint hansum.

Thare iz not mutch ov enny thing more diffikult tew define than buty.

It iz a blessed thing that there ain’t no rules for it, for the way it iz now, every man gits a hansum woman for a wife.

Thare iz grate power in female buty; its viktorys reach klear from the Garden ov Eden down to yesterday.

Adam waz the fust man that saw a butiful woman, and waz the fust man tew acknowledge it.

But beauty in itself iz but a very short-lived viktory – a mere perspektive to the background.

Thare aint noboddy but a butterfly kan liv on buty, and git phatt.

When buty and good sense jine each other, yu hav got a mixtur that will stand both wet and dry weather.

I hav never seen a woman with good sense but what had buty enuff tew make herself hily agreeable; but i hav seen 3 or 4 wimmin in mi day who hadn’t sense enuff tew make a good deal ov buty the least bit charming.

But, az i sed before, thare ain’t no posatiff rule for buty, and i am dredful glad ov it, for every boddy would be after that rule, and sumboddy wouldn’t git enny rule, besides running a grate risk ov gitting jammed in the rush.

Man buty iz a awful weak komplaint – it iz wuss, if possible, than the nosegay disseaze.

If there iz sitch a thing az a butiful man on earth, he haz mi simpathy. Even mithology had but one Adonis, and the only accomplishment he had waz tew blatt like a lamb.

Faith iz the rite bower ov Hope.

If it want for faith, thare would be no living in this world. We couldn’t even eat hash with enny safety, if it want for faith.

Human knowledge is very short, and don’t reach but a little ways, and even that little ways iz twilite; but faith lengthens out the road, and makes it light, so that we kan see tew read the letterings on the mile stuns.

Faith haz won more viktorys than all the other pashuns or sentiments ov the heart and hed put together.

Faith iz one ov them warriors who dont kno when she iz whipped.

But Faith iz no milksop, but a live fighter. She dont set down and gro stupid with resignashun, and git weak with the buty ov her attributes; but she iz the heroine ov forlorn Hope – she feathers her arrows with reazon, and fires rite at the bull’s eye ov fate.

I think now if i couldn’t hav but one ov the moral attributes, i would take it all in faith – red hot faith I mean; and tho i mite make sum fust rate blunders, i would do a rushing bizzness amung the various dri bones thare iz laying around loose in this world.

Branes are a sort ov animal pulp, and by common konsent are suppozed tew be the medium ov thought.

How enny boddy knows that the branes do the thinking, or are the interpreters ov thought, iz more than i kan tell; and, for what i kno, this theory may be one ov thoze remarkable diskoverys ov man which aint so.

Theze subjeks are tew mutch for a man ov mi learning tew lift. I kant prove any ov them, and i hav too mutch venerashun tew guess at them.

Branes are generally supozed tew be lokated in the hed, but investigashun satisfys me that they are planted all over the boddy.

I find that a dansing master’s are situated in hiz heels and toze, while a fiddler’s all center in hiz elbows.

Sum people’s branes seem tew be placed in their hands and fingers, which explains their grate genius for taking things which they kan reach.

I hav seen cases whare all the branes seemed tew kongregate in the tounge; and once in a grate while they inhabit the ears, and then we hav a good listener, but theze are seldum cases.

Sum times the branes ain’t enny whare in partikular, but all over the boddy in a minnit. These fellows are like a pissmire just before a hard shower, in a big hurry, and alwus trieing tew go 4 different ways tew once.

Thare seems tew be kases whare thare aint enny branes at all, but this iz a mistake. I thought i had cum akrost one ov theze kind once, but after watching the pashunt for an hour, and see him drink 5 horns ov poor whiskey during the time, i had no trouble in telling whare hiz branes all lay.

I hav finally cum tew the konclushun that branes, or sum thing else that iz good tew think with, are excellent tew hav: but yu want tew keep yure eye on them, and not let them phool away their time, nor yures neither.

Spring came this year az mutch az usual, hail butuous virgin 5000 years old and upwards, hale and harty old gal, welcum tew York State, and parts adjacent!

Now the birds jaw, now the cattle holler, now the pigs skream, now the geese warble, now the kats sigh, and natur is frisky, the earnest pissmire, the virtuous bed-bug, and the nobby cockroach, are singing Yankee Doodle, and “coming thru the rhi.” Now may be seen the muskeeter, that gray outlined critter ov destiny, solitary and alone, examining his last year’s bill, and may now be heard, with the naked ear, the hoarse shanghigh, bawling in the barnyard.

Kittens in the doorway, the pupys on the green, neighbor chats with neighbor, and the languid urchin creeps listless toward the school. These things are all fust rate in their place, but spring brings pesky biles , and plants them carelessly, sometimes among the maiden’s charms, and sometimes among the young men’s. I kan tork like a preshure poet about biles, just now, for i have one in full bloom growing on me, almost reddy to pick, az big az an eggplant, and az full ov anguish az a broken heart.

Biles are the sorest things ov their size on reckord, and az kross tew the touch az a setting hen, or a dog with a fresh bone. Biles alwus pick out the handyest place on youre boddy tew bild their nest, and if you undertake tew brake them up, it only makes them mad, and takes them longer tew hatch out. Thare aint no sutch thing az coaxing, nor driving them away. They are like an impudent bed bug, they won’t move till they hav got their fill.