An Optimist Is The Person Who Has

Fire Is Beautiful And We Know That If We Get Too Close It Will Kill Us But What Does That Matter It Is Better To Be Happy For A Moment And Be Burned Up With Beauty Than To Live A Long Time And Be Bored All The While

Life's Too Damn Funny For Me To Explain.

The Trouble With The Public Is That There Is Too Much Of It; What We Need In Public Is Less Quantity And More Quality.

Between The Years Of Ninety-two And A Hundred And Two, However, We Shall Be The Ribald, Useless, Drunken, Outcast Person We Have Always Wished To Be. We Shall Have A Long White Beard And Long White Hair; We Shall Not Walk At All, But Recline In A Wheel Chair And Bellow For Alcoholic Beverages; In The Winter We Shall Sit Before The Fire With Our Feet In A Bucket Of Hot Water, A Decanter Of Corn Whiskey Near At Hand, And Write Ribald Songs Against Organized Society... We Look Forward To A Disreputable, Vigorous, Unhonoured, And Disorderly Old Age.

For All Of The Creeds Are False, And All Of The Creeds Are True; And Low At The Shrines Where My Brothers Bow, There Will I Bow Too; For No Form Of A God, And No Fashion Man Has Made In His Desperate Passion, But Is Worthy Some Worship Of Mine; Not Too Hot With A Gross Belief, Nor Yet Too Cold With Pride, I Will Bow Me Down Where My Brothers Bow, Humble, But Open Eyed.