One fish. Two fish. Red fish. Blue fish. Black fish. Blue fish. Old fish. New fish. This one has a little star. This one has a little car. Say! What a lot of fish there are.

My uncle ordered popovers from the restaurant's bill of fare. And, when they were served, he regarded them with a penetrating stare. Then he spoke great words of wisdom as he sat there on that chair: "To eat these things," said my uncle, "You must exercise great care. You may swallow down what's solid, but you must spit out the air!" And as you partake of the world's bill of fare, that's darned good advice to follow. Do a lot of spitting out the hot air. And be careful what you swallow.

You're never too old, too wacky, too wild, to pick up a book and read to a child.

If you'd never been born, then you might be an Isn't! An Isn't has no fun at all. No, he disn't.

Now, the Star-Belly Sneetches had bellies with stars. The Plain-Belly Sneetches had none upon thars.

You can steer yourself in any direction you choose.

Only you can control your future.