O, money, money, money, I'm not necessarily one of those who think thee holy, But I often stop to wonder how thou canst go out so fast when thou comest in so slowly.
Bugs. Adam had'em.
My garden will never make me famous. I'm a horticultural ignoramus. I can't tell a string-bean from a soybean, or even a girl bean from a boy bean
I am a conscientious man, when I throw rocks at seagulls I leave no tern unstoned.
I believe that people believe what they believe they believe.
In the world of mules There are no rules.
...I would not engage the wombat In any form of mortal combat.
I think that comparisons are truly odious, I do not approve of this constant proud or envious to-do; And furthermore, dear friends, I think that you and yours are delightful and I also think that me and mine are delightful too.
Other people, and it doesn't matter if they are Scandinavians or Celts, Think that anything is better than theirs just because it belongs to somebody else.
Some people, and it doesn't matter whether they are paupers or millionaires, Think that anything they have is the best in the world just because it is theirs.
O Adolescence, O Adolescence I wince before thine incandescence . . . When anxious elders swarm about Crying "Where are you going?", thou answerest "Out," . . . Strewn! All is lost and nothing found Lord, how thou leavest things around! . . .
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Life has a tendency to obfuscate and bewilder, Such as fating us to spend the first part of our lives being embarrassed by our parents and the last part being embarrassed by our childer.
Middle age is when you've met so many people that every new person you meet reminds you of someone else...
Indoors or out, no one relaxes In March, that month of wind and taxes, The wind will presently disappear, The taxes last us all the year.
Your hair may be brushed, but your mind's untidy, You've had about seven hours' sleep since Friday, No wonder you feel that lost sensation; You're sunk from a riot of relaxation.