Life Is Tough, Then You Die.

One Time. In 1965. August, For About An Hour, I Was Both Fine And Dandy At The Same Time. But Nobody Asked Me How I Was.

I Hope No One Asks Me To Show Them The Ropes; I Have No Idea Where They Are. Maybe I Could Pull Some Strings And Find Out.

We Are A Nation Of Sheep, And Someone Else Owns The Grass.

There Are Only Two Types Of Motorists: The Idiots Who Drive Slower Than Me, And The Lunatics Who Go Faster.

More People Write Poetry Than Read It.