From one casual of mine he picked this sentence. "After dinner, the men moved into the living room." I explained to the professor that this was Rose' way of giving the men time to push back their chairs and stand up. There must, as we know, be a comma after every move, made by men, on this earth.
James Thurber
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James Thurber quotes
Old age is the most unexpected of all the things that can happen to a man.
Love is what you've been through with somebody.
A drawing is always dragged down to the level of its caption.
A word to the wise is not sufficient if it doesn't make sense.
All men kill the thing they hate, too, unless, of course, it kills them first.
All men should strive to learn before they die, what they are running from, and to, and why.
Boys are beyond the range of anybody's sure understanding, at least when they are between the ages of 18 months and 90 years.
But what is all this fear of and opposition to Oblivion? What is the matter with the soft Darkness, the Dreamless Sleep?
Discussion in America means dissent.
Early to rise and early to bed makes a man healthy, wealthy, and dead.
From one casual of mine he picked this sentence. "After dinner, the men moved into the living room." I explained to the professor that this was Rose' way of giving the men time to push back their chairs and stand up. There must, as we know, be a comma after every move, made by men, on this earth.
He who hesitates is sometimes saved.
Her own mother lived the latter years of her life in the horrible suspicion that electricity was dripping invisibly all over the house.
Humor is emotional chaos remembered in tranquility.
Hundreds of hysterical persons must confuse these phenomena with messages from the beyond and take their glory to the bishop rather than the eye doctor.
I think that maybe if women and children were in charge we would get somewhere.
I used to wake up at 4 A.M. and start sneezing, sometimes for five hours. I tried to find out what sort of allergy I had but finally came to the conclusion that it must be an allergy to consciousness.
I'm 65 and I guess that puts me in with the geriatrics. But if there were fifteen months in every year, I'd only be 48. That's the trouble with us. We number everything. Take women, for example. I think they deserve to have more than twelve years between the ages of 28 and 40.
If a playwright tried to see eye to eye with everybody, he would get the worst case of strabismus since Hannibal lost an eye trying to count his nineteen elephants during a snowstorm while crossing the Alps.
If I have any beliefs about immortality, it is that certain dogs I have known will go to heaven, and very, very few persons.
It had only one fault. It was kind of lousy.
It is better to know some of the questions than all of the answers.
It takes that je ne sais quoi which we call sophistication for a woman to be magnificent in a drawing-room when her faculties have departed but she herself has not yet gone home.
It's a naive domestic Burgundy without any breeding, but I think you'll be amused by its presumption.
Last night I dreamed of a small consolation enjoyed only by the blind: Nobody knows the trouble I've not seen!
Laughter need not be cut out of anything, since it improves everything.
Let us not look back in anger, nor forward in fear, but around in awareness.
Man is flying too fast for a world that is round. Soon he will catch up with himself in a great rear end collision.
My drawings have been described as pre-intentionalist, meaning that they were finished before the ideas for them had occurred to me. I shall not argue the point.
My drawings have been described as pre-internationalist, meaning that they were finished before the ideas for them had occurred to me. I shall not argue the point.
My opposition to Interviews lies in the fact that offhand answers have little value or grace of expression, and that such oral give and take helps to perpetuate the decline of the English language.
No other editor has ever been lost and saved so often in the course of a working week. When his heart leaped up, it leaped a long way, because it started from so far down, and its commutings over the years from the depths to the heights made Ross a specialist in appreciation.
Nowadays men lead lives of noisy desperation.
One martini is all right. Two are too many, and three are not enough.
Progress was all right. Only it went on too long.
Sophistication might be described as the ability to cope gracefully with a situation involving the presence of a formidable menace to one's poise and prestige (such as the butler, or the man under the bed - but never the husband).
Speed is scarcely the noblest virtue of graphic composition, but it has its curious rewards. There is a sense of getting somewhere fast, which satisfies a native American urge.
The animals that depend on instinct have an inherent knowledge of the laws of economics and of how to apply them; Man, with his powers of reason, has reduced economics to the level of a farce which is at once funnier and more tragic than Tobacco Road.
The appreciative smile, the chuckle, the soundless mirth, so important to the success of comedy, cannot be understood unless one sits among the audience and feels the warmth created by the quality of laughter that the audience takes home with it.
The chill Miss Trent has her men frustrated to a point at which a mortal male would smack her little mouth, so smooth, so firm, so free of nicotine, alcohol and emotion.
The story of Harold Ross, the New Yorker and me is a mere footnote to the story of our time, and we might as well face the truth that to researchers of the future, poking about among the ruins of time, we shall all be tiny glitters. But then, so are diamonds.
The wit makes fun of other persons; the satirist makes fun of the world; the humorist makes fun of himself, but in so doing, he identifies himself with people - that is, people everywhere, not for the purpose of taking them apart, but simply revealing their true nature.
There are two kinds of light - the glow that illuminates, and the glare that obscures.
There is no safety in numbers, or in anything else.
There is something about a poet which leads us to believe that he died, in many cases, as long as 20 years before his birth.
Unless artists can remember what it was to be a little boy, they are only half complete as artist and as man.
We all have faults, and mine is being wicked.
Well, if I called the wrong number, why did you answer the phone?
Why do you have to be a nonconformist like everybody else?
With 60 staring me in the face, I have developed inflammation of the sentence structure and a definite hardening of the paragraphs.
Women are wiser than men because they know less and understand more.
You can fool too many of the people too much of the time.
You might as well fall flat on your face as lean over too far backward.
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