Marriage was all a woman's idea and for man's acceptance of the pretty yoke, it becomes us to be grateful.

Rain is my lover, my apple strudel. / It haunts my heels like a pedigreed poodle. / Beyond the seas or across the nation, / It follows me faithful on every vacation.

It's this no-nonsense side of women that is pleasant to deal with. They are the real sportsmen.

I have read that during the process of canonization the Catholic Church demands proof of joy in the candidate, and although I have not been able to track down chapter and verse I like the suggestion that dourness is not a sacred attribute.

It's hard / Keeping up with the avant-garde.

If childhood is still a state, it is now chiefly a state of confusion.

These are my daughters, I suppose. But where in the world did the children vanish?