A haiku written by Lee Sonogan
An idealist is one who, on noticing that roses smell better than a cabbage, concludes that it will also make better soup. – H. L. Mencken
Bowled chowderhead!
Pavilion twiddling of thumbs,
Finis ghetto sled.
It is a sign of creeping inner death when we can no longer praise the living. – Eric Hoffer
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