All I hope to say in books, all that I ever hope to say, is that I love the world. - E.B. White

Analyzing humor is like disecting a frog. Few people are interested and the frog dies of it.

"The crickets sang in the grasses. They sang the song of summer's ending, a sad monotonous song. "Summer is over and gone, over and gone, over and gone. Summer is dying, dying." A little maple tree heard the cricket song and turned bright red with anxiety."

(Not every doctor can look into a mouse's ear without laughing)