“You can get him out of your study, but you can’t get him out of your mind. Might as well give up he is your captor, your jailer, your boss and your master a freckled-faced, pint-sized, cat-chasing bundle of noise.”

Mothers love them, little girls hate them, older sisters and brothers tolerate them, adults ignore them and Heaven protects them.

They are born with a little bit of angelshine about them, and though it wears thin sometimes there is always enough left to lasso your heart.

A girl becomes a wife with her eyes wide open. She knows that those sweetest words.

What is a husband? He is the one who, with a touch, can bring back the starlight and glow of years long ago. At least he hopes he can – don’t disappoint him.

A boy is Truth with dirt on its face, Beauty with a cut on its finger, Wisdom with bubble gum in its hair and the Hope of the future with a frog in its pocket.

I take thee to be my wedded husband,’ really mean, ‘I promise thee to cook three meals a day for 60 years; thee will I clean up after; thee will I talk to even when thou art not listening; thee will I worry about, cry over and take all manner of hurts from.

Between the innocence of boyhood and the dignity of manhood, we find a delightful creature called a boy.

A girl is Innocence playing in the mud, Beauty standing on its head, and Motherhood dragging a doll by the foot.

A boy is a magical creature you can lock him out of your workshop, but you can’t lock him out of your heart.

But when you come home at night with only the shattered pieces of your hopes and dreams, he can mend them like new with two magic words Hi, Dad!

Boys are found everywhere – on top of, underneath, inside of, climbing on, swinging from, running around or jumping to.

A boy is truth with dirt on its face, beauty with a cut on its finger, wisdom with bubble gum in its hair and the hope of the future with a frog in its pocket.

Little girls are the nicest things that happen to people.

I was a hot-dog stand lady, I was an orphan housemother, I was a waitress 3 or 4 times. All of those jobs did not have good bosses. They basically told you what to do, when to do and when to hop. And I just didn’t like that very much.

The real bosses in the capitalist system of market economy are the consumers. They by their buying and by their abstention from buying decide who should own the capital and run the plants. They determine what should be produced and in what quantity and quality.

Good luck, boss. Don’t let’em turn you into horse meat! (Blackjack)

The audience is not your boss. They are your collaborators and when you collaborate with someone you don’t have to listen to everything they think or say.

I was well motivated. What I wanted to do was work for myself. I had twenty two jobs before I started my business at the age of twenty three and I didn’t want one more boss telling me what to do. So I was motivated simply because I didn’t want a boss.

The real bosses, in the capitalist system of market economy, are the consumers.

I don’t have any special passion for politics, it being a never-ending merry-go-round of bosses big and small, all generally mediocre. I actually find it boring.

A really efficient totalitarian state would be one in which the all-powerful executive of political bosses and their army of managers control a population of slaves who do not have to be coerced, because they love their servitude.