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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.

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
Care
Professional
Much
Lawyer
Lurks
Men
Doctors
Clerks
Carry
Costly
Gets
Preacher
Whatever
Cares
Born
Marry
Happens
Doctor

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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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Smallpox is natural vaccine ain't.
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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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There was a young man of Herne Bay who was making some fireworks one day: but he dropped his cigar in the gunpowder jar. There was a young man of Herne Bay.
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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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I drink because she nags, she said I nag because he drinks. But if the truth be known to you, He's a lush and she's a shrew.
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Authors of all races, be they Greeks, Romans, Teutons, or Celts, Can't seem just to say anything is the thing it is but have to go out of their way to say that it is like something else.
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In real life, it takes only one to make a quarrel.
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Professional men, they have no cares whatever happens, they get theirs.
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Love is a word that is constantly heard, Hate is a word that is not. Love, I am told, is more precious than gold. Love, I have read, is hot. But hate is the verb that to me is superb, And Love but a drug on the mart. Any kiddie in school can love like a fool, But Hating, my boy, is an Art.
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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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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.
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Middle-age is when you're sitting at home on a Saturday night and the telephone rings and you hope it isn't for you.
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Oh, what a tangled web do parents weave, when they think that their children are naive.
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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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Some debts are fun while you are acquiring them, But none are fun when you set about retiring them.
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When grandparents enter the door, discipline flies out the window.
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Senescence begins And middle-age ends The day your descendants Outnumber your friends
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Maybe I couldn't be dafter, But I keep wondering if this time we settle our differences before a war instead of after.
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But that wasn't fancy enough for Lord Byron, oh dear me no, he had to invent a lot of figures of speech and then interpolate them, With the result that whenever you mention Old Testament soldiers to people they say Oh yes, they're the ones that a lot of wolves dressed up in gold and purple ate them.
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