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Sunday Squibs




The rich avoid all the little anxieties of the poor, but are haunted by the one great anxiety of wealth: losing it all.

We complain that Shakespeare's language is too complex. He'd perceive our stripped down lingo like listening to Morse Code.

The poet after writing a good poem feels as happy as the constructor of a tough crossword puzzle.

The elderly have earned the privilege of saying whatever they want.
From a distance it's cute. Up close it's abuse.

Empty the airport mid-night, though the millions pass through it each year.
So my purse at month's end; through it dollars have flown, and we're just talkin' beer.

Chairman Joe

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