In Milwaukee last month a man died laughing over one of his own jokes. That's what makes it so tough for us outsiders. We have to fight home competition.

It is one of the most discouraging experiences I have ever had, not forgetting the time when I winked at the Queen Mother in London once.

Who has not wished that his host would come out frankly at the beginning of the visit and state, in no uncertain terms, the rulesand preferences of the household in such matters as the breakfast hour? And who has not sounded out his guest to find out what he likes in the regulation of his diet and modus vivendi (mode of living)?

It must be a source of great chagrin to those in charge to think of so many people being able to stick a stamp on a letter and drop it in a mail box without any trouble or suffering at all. They are probably working on a system this very minute, trying to devise some way in which the public can be made to fill out a blank, stand in line, consult some underling who will refer him to a superior, and then be made to black up with burned cork before they can mail a letter.

The Great Arizona Desert is full of the bleaching bones of people who waited for me to start something.

The pencil sharpener is about as far as I have ever got in operating a complicated piece of machinery with any success.

Breaking the ice in the pitcher seems to be a feature of the early lives of all great men.