Quote

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.

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
Woods
Horn
Blow
Horns
Wind
Blows
Pain
Tune
Play
Wood
Oboe
Made
Tunes
Fingering
Good
Ill
Oboes
Insane
Reeds

More quotes by Ogden Nash

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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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The further through life I drift the more obvious it becomes that I am lacking in thrift.
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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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Women would rather be right than reasonable.
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There is something about a martini, Ere the dining and dancing begin, And to tell you the truth, It is not the vermouth- I think that perhaps it's the gin.
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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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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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The door of a bigoted mind opens outwards so that the only result of the pressure of facts upon it is to close it more snugly.
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One man's remorse is another man's reminiscence.
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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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Nobody agrees with anybody else anyhow, but adults conceal it and infants show it.
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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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A bird in the open never looks Like its picture in the birdie books - Or if it once did, it has changed its plumage, And plunges you back into ignorant gloomage.
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When there are monsters there are miracles.
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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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To Tom Carlson or his dog-depending on whose taste it best suits.
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Any kiddie in school can love like a fool, But Hating, my boy, is an Art.
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O money, money, money. I'm not necessarily one of those who think thee holy, but I often stop to wonder how thou canst go out so fast when thou comest in so slowly.
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I'd rather be a great bad poet than a good bad poet.
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No, you never get any fun Out of the things you haven't done.
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