No one ever died from sleeping in an unmade bed.

Humorists can never start to take themselves seriously. It's literary suicide.

For the first two years of a child's life, we spend every waking hour tryibg to get the child to communicate. Then we spend the rest of our lives trying to figure out how we can reverse the process.

You hear a lot of dialogue on the death of the American family. Families aren't dying. They're merging into big conglomerates.

Youngsters of the age of two and three are endowed with extraordinary strength. They can lift a dog twice their own weight and dump him into the bathtub.

I've always been intrigued with the variety of answers this generation will give their children who ask, "Where did I come from, Mommy?" They will range from "Number 176 vial in Buffalo, New York," to "You were defrosted."

Every puppy should have a boy.