Of One Thing I Am Certain, The

How Happy Is The Optimist / To Whom Life Shows Its Sunny Side / His Horse May Lose, His Ship May List, / But He Always Sees The Funny Side.

Women Are The Fulfilled Sex. Through Our Children We Are Able To Produce Our Own Immortality, So We Lack That Divine Restlessness Which Sends Men Charging Off In Pursuit Of Fortune Or Fame Or An Imagined Utopia. That Is Why We Number So Few Geniuses Among Us. The Wholesome Oyster Wears No Pearl, The Healthy Whale No Ambergris, And As Long As We Can Keep On Adding To The Race, We Harbor A Sort Of Health Within Ourselves.

When Blithe To Argument I Come, Though Armed With Facts, And Merry, May Providence Protect Me From The Fool As Adversary, Whose Mind To Him A Kingdom Is Where Reason Lacks Dominion, Who Calls Conviction Prejudice And Prejudice Opinion.

These Are My Daughters, I Suppose. But Where In The World Did The Children Vanish?

It's Hard / Keeping Up With The Avant-garde.