Songs are the pulse of a nation’s heart. A fever chart of its health.
A Russian child asked his mother : “does God know we don’t believe in Him?”
How are things in Glocca Mora this fine day?
Once I built a railroad, now it’s done. Brother, can you spare a dime?
Someday I’ll wish upon a star.
Virtue is its own revenge.
The Lord made Adam, the Lord made Eve; he made ’em both a little bit naive.
April in Paris, chestnuts in blossom, holiday tables under the trees.
Oh, innocent victims of Cupid, remember this terse little verse: To let a fool kiss you is stupid. To let a kiss fool you is worse.
If happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow, why oh why can’t I?
Leave the atom alone.
All the heroes of tomorrow are the heretics of today.
Follow the fellow who follows a dream.
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.
When the idle poor become the idle rich, you’ll never know just who is who, or which is which.
There ought to be a law against necessity.
Ding-dong, the wicked witch is dead.
Did God who gave us flowers and trees, Also provide the allergies?
Follow the yellow brick road.
This we learn from Watergate that almost any creep’ll be glad to help the Government overthrow the people.
Lives of great men all remind us greatness takes no easy way.