People Seem To Think There Is Something

Strange When You Come To Think Of It, That Of All Countless Folk Who Have Lived On This Planet, Not One Is Known In History Or In Legend As Having Died Of Laughter.

It Seems To Be A Law Of Nature That No Man, Unless He Has Some Obvious Physical Deformity, Ever Is Loth To Sit For His Portrait.

It Distresses Me, This Failure To Keep Pace With The Leaders Of Thought, As They Pass Into Oblivion.

The Non-conformist Conscience Makes Cowards Of Us All.

Few, As I Have Said, Are The Humorists Who Can Induce This State. To Master And Dissolve Us, To Give Us The Joy Of Being Worn Down And Tired Out With Laughter, Is A Success To Be Won By No Man Save In Virtue Of A Rare Staying-power. Laughter Becomes Extreme Only If It Be Consecutive. There Must Be No Pauses For Recovery. Touch-and-go Humour, However Happy, Is Not Enough. The Jester Must Be Able To Grapple His Theme And Hang On To It, Twisting It This Way And That, And Making It Yield Magically All Manner Of Strange And Precious Things.