That's the unfortunate thing about death. It's so terribly final.

Never shall I forget those naked, clean-swept little Canadian towns, one just like the other. Before I was twelve years old, I must have lived in fifty of them.

I'll have my double chins in privacy.

Now I know that lawyers must live, but I've never been able to understand why they have to live so blamed well!

I'm too homely for a prima donna and too ugly for a soubrette.

That's the unfortunate thing about death. It's so terribly final.

If ants are such busy workers, how come they find time to go to all the picnics?