Guido Natso is natso guido.

That would be a good thing for them to cut on my tombstone: Wherever she went, including here, it was against her better judgment.

It's not the tragedies that kill us; it's the messes.

The ladies men admire, I've heard, Would shudder at a wicked word. Their candle gives a single light, They'd rather stay at home at night. They do not keep awake 'till three, Nor read erotic poetry. They never sanction the impure, Nor recognize an overture. They shrink from powders and from paints... So far I've had no complaints.

Bewildered is the fox who lives to find that grapes beyond reach can be really sour.

There's a hell of a distance between wisecracking and wit. Wit has truth in it; wisecracking is simply calisthenics with words.

Where's the man could ease a heart Like a satin gown?