Middle-age is when you're sitting at home on a Saturday night and the telephone rings and you hope it isn't for you.

Middle-aged life is merry, and I love to lead it.

A husband is a man who two minutes after his head touches the pillow is snoring like an overloaded omnibus.

The noblest lord is ushered in By the practicing physician, And the humblest lout is ushered out By a certified mortician. And in between, they find their foyers Alive with summonses from lawyers.

I don't mind their having a lot of money, and I don't care how they employ it, but I do think that they damn well ought to admit they enjoy it.

Man is a victim of dope in the incurable form of hope.

Remorse is violent dyspepsia of the mind.