Quote

The codfish is a staple food For which I'm seldom in the mood. This fish is such an utter loss That people eat it with egg sauce.

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
Fish
Fishes
Staple
Mood
Staples
Cooking
Sauce
Loss
Utter
Food
Culinary
People
Eggs
Seldom

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Time is like the ocean, always there, always different.
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You can take it as understood, That your luck changes only if it's good.
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Beneath this slab John Brown is stowed. He watched the ads, And not the road.
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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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To Tom Carlson or his dog-depending on whose taste it best suits.
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Some one invented the telephone, And interrupted a nation's slumbers, Ringing wrong but similar numbers.
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The only way I can distinguish proper from improper fractions is by their actions
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Commitments the voters don't know about can't hurt you.
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No, you never get any fun Out of the things you haven't done.
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The turtle lives 'twixt plated decks Which practically conceal its sex I think it clever of the turtle In such a fix to be so fertile.
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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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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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The oboe's a horn made of wood. I'd play you a tune if I could, But the reeds are a pain, And the fingering's insane. It's the ill wind that no one blows good.
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At another year I would not boggle Except that when I jog I joggle.
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Here's a toast to the roast that good fellowship lends, with the sparkle of beer and wine May its sentiment always be deeper, my friends, than the foam at the top of the stein. Then here's to the heartening wassail, wherever good fellows are found Be its master instead of its vassal, and order the glasses around.
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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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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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All that glitters is sold as gold.
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In the world of mules there are no rules.
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