Every time we tell anybody to cheer up, things might be worse, we run away for fear we might be asked to specify how.
And of all glad words of prose or rhyme, The gladdest are Act while there yet is time
In the order named, these are the hardest to control - wine, women and song.
Accustomed as I am to public speaking, I know the futility of it.
The best bet you get is an even break.
Middle age occurs when you are too young to take up golf and too old to rush up to the net.
An extravagance is something you buy which is no earthly use to your wife.
When the political columnists say 'Every thinking man' they mean themselves, and when candidates appeal to 'Every intelligent voter' they mean everybody who is going to vote for them
Life, lift the full goblet--away with all sorrow-- The circle of friendship what freedom would sever? To-day is our own, and a fig for to-morrow-- Here's to the Fourth and our country forever.
There is no accounting for tastes, as the woman said when someone told her her son was wanted by the police.
Count the day won, when the earth, turning on its axis, imposes no additional taxes
Drinking is bad taste but tastes good.
We deny that it is fun to be saving. It is fun to be prodigal. Go to the butterfly, thou parsimonious sluggard; consider her ways and get wise.
As we see censorship it is a stupid giant traffic policeman answering "Yes" to "Am I my brother's copper?" He guards a one-way street and his semaphore has four signs, all marked "stop.
Having imagination, it takes you an hour to write a paragraph that, if you were unimaginative, would take you only a minute. Or you might not write the paragraph at all.
I hate the pollyanna pest who says that all is for the best.
The rich man has his motorcar, His country and his town estate, He smokes a fifty-cent cigar And jeers at Fate. He frivols through the livelong day, He knows not Poverty, her pinch. His lot seems light, his heart seems gay; He has a cinch. Yet though my lamp burns low and dim, Though I must slave for livelihood- Think you that I would change with him? You bet I would!
Christmas is over and Business is Business.
Day after day, night after night, my life at home is far from bright, but even home has more variety, than I can find in cafe society.
These are the saddest of possible words, Tinker-to-Evers-to-Chance. Trio of Bear Cubs fleeter than birds, Tinker-to-Evers-to-Chance. Ruthlessly pricking our gonfalon bubble, Making a Giant hit into a double, Words that are weighty with nothing but trouble, Tinker-to-Evers-to-Chance. This brief poem, immortalized the Chicago Cubs' double-play combination: Shortstop Joe Tinker, second baseman Johnny Evers, and first baseman Frank Chance.
Prohibition is an awful flop. We like it. It can't stop what it's meant to stop. We like it. It's left a trail of graft and slime It don't prohibit worth a dime It's filled our land with vice and crime, Nevertheless, we're for it.
While the work or play is on, it is a lot of fun if while you are doing one you don't constantly feel that you ought to be doing the other.
Nobody can write such ironic things unless he has a deep sense of injustice-injustice to those members of the race who are victims of the stupid, the pretentious and the hypocritical.
We have nothing in our history or position to invite aggression; we have everything to beckon us to the cultivation of relations of peace and amity with all nations.
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