As we see censorship it is a stupid giant traffic policeman answering "Yes" to "Am I my brother's copper?" He guards a one-way street and his semaphore has four signs, all marked "stop.

The rich man has his motorcar, His country and his town estate, He smokes a fifty-cent cigar And jeers at Fate. He frivols through the livelong day, He knows not Poverty, her pinch. His lot seems light, his heart seems gay; He has a cinch. Yet though my lamp burns low and dim, Though I must slave for livelihood- Think you that I would change with him? You bet I would!

There is no accounting for tastes, as the woman said when someone told her her son was wanted by the police.

I am easily influenced. Compared with me a weather vane is Gibraltar.

Accustomed as I am to public speaking, I know the futility of it.

Conscience: A small, still voice that makes minority reports.

You can learn many things from children. How much patience you have, for instance.