This morning I paid seventy cents for two little old dried-up slivers of bacon and one cockeyed egg. It took me till noon to get my appetite back.

When a man starts out to build a world, He starts first with himself

Beauty for some provides escape, who gain a happiness in eyeing the gorgeous buttocks of the ape or Autumn sunsets exquisitely dying.

Money and art are far apart.

Hard as I try, daddy-o, I really do not like concert singers. They are always singing in some foreign language.

Peace We passed their graves: The dead men there, Winners or losers, Did not care. In the dark They could not see Who had gained The victory.

Cheap little rhymes A cheap little tune Are sometimes as dangerous As a sliver of the moon.