There's No One, No One, Loves You

The English And Americans Dislike Only Some Irish--the Same Irish That The Irish Themselves Detest, Irish Writers--the Ones That Think.

The Bible Was A Consolation To A Fellow Alone In The Old Cell. The Lovely Thin Paper With A Bit Of Matress Stuffing In It, If You Could Get A Match, Was As Good A Smoke As I Ever Tasted.

That You, Sister. May You Be The Mother Of A Bishop.

It's Not That The Irish Are Cynical. It's Rather That They Have A Wonderful Lack Of Respect For Everything And Everybody.

All Publicity Is Good, Except An Obituary Notice.