If you don't want to work, you have to work to earn enough money so that you won't have to work.

Oh, what a tangled web do parents weave, when they think that their children are naive.

The burnt child, urged by rankling ire, Can hardly wait to get back at the fire.

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.

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

All that glitters is sold as gold.

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!