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April in Paris, chestnuts in blossom, holiday tables under the trees.

Yip Harburg

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Yip Harburg
Age: 84 †
Born: 1896
Born: April 8
Died: 1981
Died: March 5
Composer
Lyricist
Poet
Screenwriter
Songwriter
Edgar Yipsel Yip Harburg
Edgar Yipsel Harburg
E. Y. Harburg
Isidore Hochberg
Tables
Tree
Chestnuts
Blossom
April
Holiday
Paris
Trees

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When I'm not near the girl I love, I love the girl I'm near.
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This we learn from Watergate that almost any creep'll be glad to help the Government overthrow the people.
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The Lord made Adam, the Lord made Eve, he made 'em both a little bit naive.
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No matter how much I prove and prod, I cannot quite believe in God But oh, I hope to God that He, Unswervingly believes in me.
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When the melody touches your heart emotionally and the words hit your brain intellectually, more than likely you'll find you'll have an excellent song to sing.
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For what we are about to receive, Oh Lord 'tis Thee we thank,' said the cannibal as he cut a slice off the missionary's shank.
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Ding-dong, the wicked witch is dead.
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If happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow, why oh why can't I?
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A Russian child asked his mother : does God know we don't believe in Him?
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Someday I'll wish upon a star.
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I am a rebel by birth... I contest anything that is unjust, that causes suffering in humanity. My feelings about that are so strong, I don't think I could live with myself if I weren't honest.
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Virtue is its own revenge.
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Lives of great men all remind us, Greatness takes no easy way, All the heroes of tomorrow, Are the heretics of today. Socrates and Galileo, John Brown, Thoreau, Christ, and Debs, Heard the night cry Down with traitors! And the dawn shout Up the rebs!
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Words make you think a thought. Music makes you feel a feeling. A song makes you feel a thought.
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Did God who gave us flowers and trees, Also provide the allergies?
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Oh, innocent victims of Cupid, remember this terse little verse: To let a fool kiss you is stupid. To let a kiss fool you is worse.
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WHERE and WHEN, Are lost in space. THERE and THEN, Do not embrace. So before we disappear, Come sweet NOW and kiss the HERE.
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How are things in Glocca Mora this fine day?
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I am one of the last of a small tribe of troubadours, who still believe that life is a beautiful and exciting journey with a purpose and grace which are well worth singing about.
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Leave the atom alone.
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