Ding-dong, the wicked witch is dead.
How are things in Glocca Mora this fine day?
Songs are the pulse of a nation's heart. A fever chart of its health.
The greatest romance in the life of a lyricist is when the right word meets the right note; often, however, a Park Avenue phrase elopes with a Bleecker Street chord, resulting in a shotgun wedding and a quickie divorce.
Leave the atom alone.
For what we are about to receive, Oh Lord 'tis Thee we thank,' said the cannibal as he cut a slice off the missionary's shank.