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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
Drift
Lacking
Obvious
Becomes
Money
Life
Thrift

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People who work sitting down get paid more than people who work standing up.
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I am a conscientious man, when I throw rocks at seabirds I leave no tern unstoned.
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We love the kindly wind and hail, The jolly thunderbolt, We watch in glee the fairy trail Of ampere, watt, and volt.
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All husbands are alike, but they have different faces so you can tell them apart.
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There once was an umpire whose vision Was cause for abuse and derision He remarked in surprise, 'Why pick on my eyes? It's my heart that dictates my decision.'
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When I ponder my mind I consistently find It is glued On food.
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There are two kinds of people who blow through life like a breeze, And one kind is gossipers, and the other kind is gossipees.
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Neath tile or thatch That man is rich Who has a scratch For every itch.
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In the world of mules there are no rules.
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To Tom Carlson or his dog-depending on whose taste it best suits.
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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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So I hope husbands and wives will continue to debate and combat Over everything debatable and combatable Because I believe a little incompatibility is the spice of life Particularly if he has income and she is pattable.
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A dressing is not a compote A dressing is not a custard It consists of pepper and salt, Vinegar, oil and mustard.
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The more you earn, the less you keep, And now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to take, If the tax-collector hasn't got it before I wake.
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Time is like the ocean, always there, always different.
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The bed is a bundle of paradoxes: we go to it with reluctance, yet we quit it with regret we make up our minds every night to leave it early, but we make up our bodies every morning to keep it late.
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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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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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Celery, raw, Develops the jaw
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Stuyvesant chats with Kelly and Katz, The professor warms to the broker, And life is good in the brotherhood Of an air-conditioned smoker.
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