The only “ism” Hollywood believes in is plagiarism.

All I have to be thankful for in this world is that I was sitting down when my garter busted.

Every year, back comes Spring, with nasty little birds yapping their fool heads off and the ground all mucked up with plants.

The sun's gone dim, and the moon's gone black. For I loved him, and he didn't love back.

Yet, as only New Yorkers know, if you can get through the twilight, you'll live through the night.

And I'll stay off Verlaine too; he was always chasing Rimbauds.

Don't feel bad when I die; I've been dead for a long time.