“I tell you the past is a bucket of ashes.”

“The past is a bucket of ashes”

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, if the women don't get you then the whiskey must.”

“One summer afternoon I came home and found all the umbrellas sitting in the kitchen, with straw hats on, telling who they are. ...The umbrella that peels the potatoes with a pencil and makes a pink ink with the peelings stood up and said, "I am the umbrella that peels the potatoes with a pencil and makes a pink ink with the peelings." ...The umbrella that runs to the corner to get corners for the handkerchiefs stood up and said, "I am the umbrella that runs to the corner to get corners for the handkerchiefs."..."I am the umbrella that holds up the sky. I am the umbrella the rain comes through. I am the umbrella that tells the sky when to begin raining and when to stop raining. "I am the umbrella that goes to pieces when the wind blows and then puts itself back together again when the wind goes down. I am the first umbrella, the last umbrella, the one and only umbrella all other umbrellas are named after, first, last and always."When the stranger finished this speech telling who he was and where he came from, all the other umbrellas sat still for a little while, to be respectful. ”

“Tell no man anything, for no man listensYet hold thy lips ready to speak.”

“I asked the professors who teach the meaning of life to tell me what is happiness. And I went to famous executives who boss the work of thousands of men. They all shook their heads and gave me a smile as though I was trying to fool with them. And then one Sunday afternoon I wandered out along the Desplaines river and I saw a crowd of Hungarians under the trees with their women and children and a keg of beer and an accordion.”

“The Lawyers Know Too Much THE LAWYERS, Bob, know too much.They are chums of the books of old John Marshall.They know it all, what a dead hand wrote,A stiff dead hand and its knuckles crumbling,The bones of the fingers a thin white ash. The lawyers know a dead man’s thoughts too well. In the heels of the higgling lawyers, Bob,Too many slippery ifs and buts and howevers,Too much hereinbefore provided whereas,Too many doors to go in and out of. When the lawyers are throughWhat is there left, Bob?Can a mouse nibble at itAnd find enough to fasten a tooth in? Why is there always a secret singingWhen a lawyer cashes in?Why does a hearse horse snickerHauling a lawyer away?The work of a bricklayer goes to the blue.The knack of a mason outlasts a moon.The hands of a plasterer hold a room together.The land of a farmer wishes him back again. Singers of songs and dreamers of plays Build a house no wind blows over.The lawyers—tell me why a hearse horse snickers hauling a lawyer’s bones.”