He Worked Like Hell In

A Certain Alloy Of Expediency Improves The Gold Of Morality And Makes It Wear All The Longer.

I Suppose The Human Race Is Doing The Best It Can But Hells Bells Thats Only An Explanation Its Not An Excuse.

Life's Too Damn Funny For Me To Explain.

Between The Years Of Ninety-two And A Hundred And Two, However, We Shall Be The Ribald, Useless, Drunken, Outcast Person We Have Always Wished To Be. We Shall Have A Long White Beard And Long White Hair; We Shall Not Walk At All, But Recline In A Wheel Chair And Bellow For Alcoholic Beverages; In The Winter We Shall Sit Before The Fire With Our Feet In A Bucket Of Hot Water, A Decanter Of Corn Whiskey Near At Hand, And Write Ribald Songs Against Organized Society... We Look Forward To A Disreputable, Vigorous, Unhonoured, And Disorderly Old Age.

Honesty Is A Good Thing, But It Is Not Profitable To Its Possessor Unless It Is Kept Under Control.