But ah! disasters have their use; And life might e'en be too sunshiny.

I can not sing the old songs now! It is not that I deem them low, 'Tis that I can't remember how They go.

Life is with such all beer and skittles. They are not difficult to please About their victuals.

Go mad, and beat their wives; Plunge (after shocking lives) Razors and carving knives Into their gizzards.

The heart which grief hath cankered, Hath one unfailing remedy - the Tankard.

I've read in many a novel, that unless they've souls that grovel-- Folks prefer in fact a hovel to your dreary marble halls.

The farmer's daughter hath soft brown hair And I met with a ballad, I can't say where, That wholly consisted of lines like these.

I sit alone at present, dreaming darkly of a Dun.

Should ever anything be missed - milk, coals, umbrellas, brandy - the cat's pitched into with a boot or anything that's handy.

The auld wife sat at her ivied door, (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) A thing she had frequently done before; And her spectacles lay on her apron'd knees.

But what is coffee, but a noxious berry, Born to keep used-up Londoners awake?

It is better to be a king in the jungle and be celebrated than to be an unknown champion where you’d not be afforded the kind of respect you deserve.

I don't really get into a big intellectual analysis of why I am going to do a certain script or not.

What I wanted to try and figure out was, okay, in contemporary 21st century life the alienation between the self and the land around you or the self and even the urban landscape. You name it.

George Lucas doesn't have the most physical stamina. He was so unhappy making Star Wars that he just vowed he'd never do it again.

I am doing the right thing, he told himself, so why do I feel so bad?

I might have a guitar or a piano on set to play something for the actors.

You can't be as old as I am without waking up with a surprised look on your face every morning.

Sorrow is a kind of rust of the soul, which every new idea contributes in its passage to scour away. It is the putrefaction of stagnant life, and is remedied by exercise and motion.

The extermination of the buffalo has been a veritable tragedy of the animal world.

Drew, your enemies can mess your life up,' he said. 'Or they can make it easy for you to do it to yourself.' —Fletch