Tonight's December thirty-first, something is about to burst. The clock is crouching, dark and small, like a time bomb in the hall. Hark, it's midnight, children dear. Duck! Here comes another year!

The cow is of the bovine ilk: One end is moo, the other, milk.

Life is not having been told that the man has just waxed the floor.

Don't over-analyze your marriage; it's like yanking up a fragile indoor plant every 20 minutes to see how its roots are growing.

But children, hark! Your mother would rather, When you arrived, have been your father.

Here lies my past, Goodbye I have kissed it; Thank you kids, I wouldn't have missed it.

The only people who should really sin are the people who can sin and grin.