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The further through life I drift the more obvious it becomes that I am lacking in thrift.

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
Becomes
Money
Life
Thrift
Drift
Lacking
Obvious

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The Preacher, the Politicain, the Teacher, Were each of them once a kiddie. A child, indeed, is a wonderful creature. Do I want one? God Forbiddie!
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One thing that literature would be greatly the better for Would be a more restricted employment by authors of simile and>metaphor.
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Here lies my past, Goodbye I have kissed it Thank you kids, I wouldn't have missed it.
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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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Do you think my mind is maturing late, or simply rotted early?
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Wind is caused by the trees waving their branches.
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One man's remorse is another man's reminiscence.
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Neath tile or thatch That man is rich Who has a scratch For every itch.
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When I ponder my mind I consistently find It is glued On food.
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Ten years ago she split the air To seize what she could spy Tonight she bumps against a chair, Betrayed by milky eye. She seems to pant, Time up, time up! My little dog must die, And lie in dust with Hector's pup I So, presently, must I.
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Smallpox is natural vaccine ain't.
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Your hair may be brushed, but your mind's untidy. You've had about seven hours of sleep since Friday. No wonder you feel that lost sensation. You're sunk from a riot of relaxation.
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Tonight's December thirty-first, something is about to burst. The clock is crouching, dark and small, like a time bomb in the hall. Hark, it's midnight, children dear. Duck! Here comes another year!
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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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I myself am more and more inclined to agree with Omar and Satchel Paige as I grow older: Don't try to rewrite what the moving finger has writ, and don't ever look over your shoulder.
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Oh, what a tangled web do parents weave, when they think that their children are naive.
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Why did the Lord give use so much quickness unless it was to avoid responsibility?
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This is my dream, It is my own dream, I dreamt it. I dreamt that my hair was kempt. Then I dreamt that my true love unkempt it.
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One would be in less danger From the wiles of the stranger If one's own kin and kith Were more fun to be with.
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If some confectioners were willing To let the shape announce the filling, We'd encounter fewer assorted chocs, Bitten into and returned to the box.
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