The Role Of Humour Is To Make

English Bohemianism Is A Curiously Unluscious Fruit. ... Inside This Hothouse, Huge Lascivious Orchids Slide Sensuously Up The Sweating Windows, Passion-flowers Cross-pollinate In Wild Heliotrope Abandon, Lotuses Writhe With Poppies In The Sweet Warm Beds, Kumquats Ripen, Open And Plop Flatly To The Floor-and Outside, In A Neat, Trimly-hoed Kitchen-garden, English Bohemians Sit In Cold Orderly Rows, Like Carrots.

There Are Many Mysteries In Old Age But The Greatest, Surely, Is This: In Those Adverts For Walk-in Bathtubs, Why Doesn't All The Water Gush Out When You Get In?

In The Days When The Keepers Of The House Shall Tremble, And The Strong Men Shall Bow Themselves, And The Grinders Cease Because They Are Few, And Those That Look Out Of The Windows Be Darkened, I Know One Boy Who Won't Be Sweating. I Intend To Raise My Coffin-lid Briskly, Throw A Few Things Into An Overnight Bag, And, Whistling Something Appropriate, Prepare To Meet My Maker.

A Humorist Tells Himself Every Morning, "i Hope It's Going To Be A Rough Day." When Things Are Going Well, It's Much Harder To Make The Right Jokes.

All I Know Of Birds To This Date Is That Sparrows Are The Ones That Are Not Pigeons.