Smooth is underused.
Stylish doesn’t require a hat — just a curl, cut, spike or rat.
Cultivated clauses are surrounded by suave pauses.
A hat and chain and you’re urbane.
Provincials hold to the essentials; cosmopolitans add a few tangentials.
Urbanity is just the fancy cover for humanity.
The provincial man has but one house; the world traveler is at home on every route.
Style is the trifle that adorns — and scorns.
No elite beings — just humble humanity.
Every soul is sophisticated — a veritable polis to other minds, a cosmos to other psyches.
With everyday beseechery we conjure English history.
Sheep and mutton, hook and button, English is the language glutton.
Some people take in kids; English takes in words.
Our English thesaurus is a monstrosity; it has given intemperate, unrestrained and inauspicious birth to effusiveness, loquacity, prolixity, wordiness, redundancy and verbosity.
Flail, flap, flicker, flee — word cousins are a mystery.
Cacoepy’s orthoepy intrinsically is uppity.
The winsome tongue has lost ugsome.
The OED has OCD.
To speak our language is innate, uttered without the slightest wait.
English began with a kinsman; it will end when their isn’t one.
Meetings shape reality; a lack of meetings and reality shapes us.
A car needs a driver; a meeting needs a little kaiser.
Poor proposals; messy meetings.
Invite the conflict; save the organization.
Poor meetings cause stress; stress causes more meetings.
What dies in a meeting lives on in a heart.
Organizations are dominated by calendars; scheduled — held.
What isn’t shouted at the meeting will be whispered in the ear.
Decrees hide in discussions, depotism in votes.
The group completes the individual.
The agenda isn’t in the email, it’s within each person at the meeting.
We hold fairs to remind us of who we are.
Fairs exist to give out ribbons — and take up cash.
At the fair pigs are named after politicians; this is demeaning to the pigs.
Blue ribbons define fairs — and ordinariness.
The craftsman and the novice both appear at the fair; they alone know that they are the same person.
The lama shaved at the fair is not diminished, neither is the world when divested of superiority.
The fine woodwork at the fair and a person turned from harmful ways — no price tag, inestimable value.
Young girls take their baby goats to the fair, so the world retains some innocence.
Hawksters require gawksters.
Fairs are for eating fun food — deep fried coffee, baked ice cream.
Fairs were created to bore animals, excite children and tire adults.
Anonymity installs humility.
Do what will make you famous with the desire to remain obscure.
It is good to aspire to renown — better not to be found.
Our anonymity offers us the option of cultivating only one soul.
Lovelies, hide; God only knows what they will do with you.
Anonymity is the gift of divinity.
Shopping alone is the great privilege of the unknown.
Celebrity becomes a vamp; anonymity becomes a rant.
Anonymity is the co-author of creativity.
Anonymity — it’s the soul virginity.
Spiders are revealed by their webs, harm by tangled minds.
Fame is unnerving; obscurity — completely so.
To ensure everyone else’s safety, make peace with your self.
When justice and mercy kiss, peace appears.
No peace in killing, only in being killed.
Peace is a garden, a quiet hour — no violence within.
Peace loves the light; agitation hides in the dark and gnaws on secrets.
Tranquility — it lacketh durability.
Peace isn’t from things being okay; it’s from being okay with things.
Dominate others; this will tick them off, upset you, and ensure your downfall.
Turmoil’s affinity is with beginnings and endings; peace thrives in middle ground.
To achieve peace, kill Napoleon — within.
Those who desire war will rest in peace.
Wage war, using peace.
Hope for everything; celebrate at least one thing.
Disappointment — suck it up; choke it down; spit it out; stomp it.
Setbacks prevalent; advances equivalent.
Re-anoint the young who disappoint.
Integrity’s loss makes disappointment the boss.
Parents give, the children take — disappointment is at stake.
People let you down; flies hang around.
End disappointments, keep your appointments.
The foiled become cynics by the quitting gimmick.
The disappointed cry contains another try.
The period is to be thanked — for silence.
A pause is a sun, a comma is a shadow.
The well-placed comma removes all the trauma, or adds some drama.
Dance, laugh, yell, anoint — celebrate the screaming point!
Reading is guessing and testing, punctuation pausing and resting.
The colon wears a coat and tie: “Hello, enumeration,” never, “Hi.”
The slammer — a verbal hammer!
The apostrophe is Procrustean; it owns, shortens, and relengthens.
There will always be more to be said; the semicolon will never be dead.
The dash is brash.
There are no stupid question marks; only stupid exclamation points!
The written word is inadequate to convey the human voice; our only hope is to someday reinvent punctuation.
Long words tromp and clomp; the short ones romp and stomp.
Actions are louder, words depend on the shouter.
Twisted words come from tangled thoughts.
“In a word …” is never one word.
A play on words is a lot of work.
One word is worth a thousand vacation pictures.
Weigh words and diet, wax simple and quiet.
Keep your words close and your spouse’s words closer.
Words, words, the phonic fruit, the more you learn, the more you toot.
There’s a way with words, and then there are words that have their way.
There is no final word, only a finalized mind.
To fix a fix kibitz — don’t blitz.
Carry on — by carrying on!
Go off; calm down — hurry back.
Make custom all custom.
Dust off your brain; dust on what’s sane.
Life is all downhill from here — “Oh, yea!” and “Oh dear!”
Do not refrain from love’s refrain.
Wise oversight expects oversights.
‘It’s all over!” is all over the place.
In the middle of every gorgeous peach — is a pit — deep.
Irony is the soul’s truth store; it make its deliveries to the mind’s backdoor.
To shout louder, employ silence.
Greatness lies in leastness.
Understatement is boredom abatement.
What you start can finish you.
To build your own gallows high — simply hate and lie.
Socrates was the ignorant fool who the took the ancient world to school.
Exaggerate; this expands small minds and diminishes large ones.
Sincerity knows no irony, no sarcasm, no word refinery.
Protection has a side effect — death.
Hang in there, then climb the noose.
Perseverance is a choice offered by a disaster.
Some whine, some recline — some dine on the malign.
Moxie is epoxy; during difficulty it glues us together.
It’s guts or go nuts.
Pluck breeds luck; quitting totally ruins your odds.
Perseverance is periscopic; it sees around corners.
Grit is an abrasive; it can grind down difficulty.
On the other side of the canal of root is a delicious restaurant.
There is a time for everything, a time for nerve and a time to swerve.
Bawl your eyes out; stick them back in.
When records can’t be found invent fires and floods — tell stories of tornadoes.
Nothing ruins an exciting search like a good data base.
Straighten out your past; hire an archivist.
Build an archive — share the loot.
Digitize, digitize, save the truth — preserve some lies.
What’s done is done — unless the archivist is your friend.
Archival is a type of survival; decontribution is a form of suicide.
Obfuscate the past, confuse the present, ensure this for the future — promote research.
Deaccession all scrapbook transgression.
A society separated from its records has no access to justice.
The trash can is a file, the dumpster is a folder; the dump is a data base.
Posted: May 18, 2015 in simple
Tags: child's play, haute couture, making life simple, modern proverbs, modern proverbs about what is simple, proverbs, proverbs about what is simple, randy hasper, Simple wisdom, the philosophy of simple
To mature, quiet.
No sweat, no get.
Love, don’t hate, simplificate.
For haute couture try simpler.
To pass away is child’s play; it’s harder to stay in the fray.
The mind fabricates a dimple for an answer that is simple.
The simplest tool empowers even the fool.
If time’s pinch or space’s inch do not suffice, then while or mile must take their place.
Lies wound; truths festoon.
The hurt refuse to chart their part.
Friends aren’t inert to hurt.
The wise surmise hidden cries.
Silence is a form of violence.
Love wanes shame.
The lamed blame, the hurt blurt, the mad rag.
Those who don’t fulfill their potential rise up against those who do.
Hurt remains, deposited in memory.
The utterly crushed are like animals caught in a trap; they bite even those who try to help them escape.
The hurt run from disaster; love runs after them faster.
Posted: May 13, 2015 in downtown
Every city is an opportunity; every building is a future.
Orange hand, bright man, downtown’s powerful command.
Taxis abate time’s fate.
Clothes make the town — tatters, ties, rags and gowns.
In a just city, everyone may wear cuffs.
Downtown’s semiotic tags are backpacks, briefcases, purses and bags.
Steel cliffs, concrete canyons, asphalt rivers — downtown gives nature the shivers.
Trees deliver the country to the city.
The city is a street where people cross but never meet.
Parking is now a destination.
Strange, stranger and the strangest, the city collects and arranges.