Yogi ordered a pizza. The waitress asked How many pieces do you want your pie cut? Yogi responded, Four. I don't think I could eat eight.

Well, I used to look like this when I was young and now I still do.

If my father was alive to hear that, he'd turn over in his grave.

What a house - nothin' but rooms!

It was impossible to get a conversation going, everybody was talking too much.

I can't concentrate when I'm thinking.

What makes a good man?