Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Wednesday's Words & Quippish Quotes: Happy Birthday!

Supposedly on this day 100 years ago, the song "Happy Birthday" was first published. It had been sung many years before that, and wasn't officially copyrighted until 1935, but today marks "Happy Birthday"'s 100th birthday,(in print anyway). As many of you are now aware, The Revolving Bookcase turned one earlier this month. June also holds the birthdays of two of my favorite living beings in this world, my mom and my dog. So, today's Wednesday's Words & Quippish Quotes is to wish Happy Birthday to them, to us, to the song "Happy Birthday," and to anyone else with birthdays this month. Happy birthday to you.

 and many more.

“Tucker: "But she gave me the perfect gift."
Clara: "What?"
Tucker: "You.”
― Cynthia Hand, Unearthly

“Romance novels are birthday cake and life is often peanut butter and jelly. I think everyone should have lots of delicious romance novels lying around for those times when the peanut butter of life gets stuck to the roof of your mouth.”
― Janet Evanovich

“Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You.”
― Dr. Seuss, Happy Birthday to You!

“Wishing, like sipping a glass of punch, or pulling aside a bearskin rug in order to access a hidden trapdoor in the floor, is merely a quiet way to spend one's time before the candles are extinguished on one's birthday cake.”
― Lemony Snicket, Horseradish: Bitter Truths You Can't Avoid

“And now," he continued, speaking to Milo, "where were you on the night on July 27?"
"What does that have to do with it?" asked Milo.
"It's my birthday, that's what," said the policeman as he entered  'Forgot my birthday' in his little book. "Boys always forget other people's birthdays.” 
― Norton Juster, The Phantom Tollbooth

"There are three hundred and sixty-four days when you might get un-birthday presents, and only one for birthday presents, you know."
-- Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking Glass

“I grabbed a pile of dust, and holding it up, foolishly asked for as many birthdays as the grains of dust, I forgot to ask that they be years of youth. ”
― Ovid, Metamorphoses

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