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Oh, what a tangled web do parents weave, when they think that their children are naive.

Ogden Nash

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Ogden Nash
Age: 68 †
Born: 1902
Born: August 19
Died: 1971
Died: May 19
Poet
Screenwriter
Writer
New York
United States
Frederic Ogden Nash
Parent
Family
War
Weave
Children
Tangled
Think
Naive
Thinking
Users
Drug
Parents

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Winter is the king of showmen, Turning tree stumps into snowmen And houses into birthday cakes And spreading sugar over lakes. Smooth and clean and frosty white, The world looks good enough to bite. That’s the season to be young, Catching snowflakes on your tongue. Snow is snowy when it’s snowing, I’m sorry it’s slushy when it’s going.
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Some one invented the telephone, And interrupted a nation's slumbers, Ringing wrong but similar numbers.
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Life has a tendency to obfuscate and bewilder, Such as fating us to spend the first part of our lives being embarrassed by our parents and the last part being embarrassed by our children.
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The only incurable troubles of the rich are the troubles that money can't cure, Which is a kind of trouble that is even more troublesome if you are poor.
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I am a conscientious man, when I throw rocks at seabirds I leave no tern unstoned.
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Middle-aged life is merry, and I love to lead it.
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The Pig, if I am not mistaken, Supplies us sausage, ham, and Bacon. Let others say his heart is big, I think it stupid of the Pig.
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The old men know when an old man dies.
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Women would rather be right than reasonable.
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All husbands are alike, but they have different faces so you can tell them apart.
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I'm like a backward berry, Unripened on the vine, For all my friends are fifty, And I'm only forty-nine.
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A door is what a dog is perpetually on the wrong side of.
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Another good thing about gossip is that it is within everybody's reach, And it is much more interesting than any other form of speech.
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Some hate broccoli, some hate bacon I hate having my picture taken. How can your family claim to love you And then demand a picture of you?
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Do you think my mind is maturing late, or simply rotted early?
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Bankers are just like everybody else, except richer.
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The doctor gets you when you're born, The preacher, when you marry, And the lawyer lurks with costly clerks If too much on you carry. Professional men, they have no cares Whatever happens, they get theirs.
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Remorse is violent dyspepsia of the mind.
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When I remember bygone days I think how evening follows morn So many I loved were not yet dead, So many I love were not yet born.
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Here is a pen and here is a pencil, here's a typewriter, here's a stencil, here's a list of today's appointments, and all the flies in all the ointments, the daily woes that a man endures -- take them, George, they're yours!
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