Breaking The Ice In The

A Man Of Forty Today Has Nothing To Worry Him But Falling Hair, Inability To Button The Top Button, Failing Vision, Shortness Of Breath, A Tendency Of The Collar To Shut Off All Breathing, Trembling Of The Kidneys To Whatever Tune The Orchestra Is Playing, And A General Sense Of Giddiness When The Matter Of Rent Is Brought Up. Forty Is Life's Golden Age.

There Is Probably No Moment More Appalling Than That In Which The Tongue Comes Suddenly Upon The Ragged Edge Of A Space From Which The Old Familiar Filling Has Disappeared.

Who Has Not Wished That His Host Would Come Out Frankly At The Beginning Of The Visit And State, In No Uncertain Terms, The Rulesand Preferences Of The Household In Such Matters As The Breakfast Hour? And Who Has Not Sounded Out His Guest To Find Out What He Likes In The Regulation Of His Diet And Modus Vivendi (mode Of Living)?

Most Of The Arguments To Which I Am Party Fall Somewhat Short Of Being Impressive, Owing To The Fact That Neither I Nor My Opponent Knows What We Are Talking About.

It Was One Of Those Plays In Which All Of The Actors Unfortunately Enunciated Very Clearly.