Happy is the child whose father died rich.

Hard, adj.:
	The quality of your own data; also how it is to believe those
	of other people.

Hard reality has a way of cramping your style.
		-- Daniel Dennett

Hard work may not kill you, but why take the chance?

Hard work never killed anybody, but why take a chance?
		-- Charlie McCarthy

Hardware, n.:
	The parts of a computer system that can be kicked.

Hark, Hark, the dogs do bark
The Duke is fond of kittens
He likes to take their insides out
And use them for his mittens
		-- "The 13 Clocks"

Hark, the Herald Tribune sings,
Advertising wondrous things.
		-- Tom Lehrer

Hark ye, Clinker, you are a most notorious offender.  You stand
convicted of sickness, hunger, wretchedness, and want.
		-- Tobias Smollet

Harp not on that string.
		-- William Shakespeare, "Henry VI"

Harriet's Dining Observation:
	In every restaurant, the hardness of the butter pats
	increases in direct proportion to the softness of the bread.

Harris had the beefstead pie between his knees, and was carving it, and George
and I were waiting with our plates ready.
	"Have you got a spoon there?" says Harris; "I want a spoon to help
the gravy with."
	The hamper was close behind us, and George and I both turned round to
reach one out.  We were not five seconds getting it.  When we looked round
again, Harris and the pie were gone!
	It was a wide, open field.  There was not a tree or a bit of hedge for
hundreds of yards.  He could not have tumbled into the river, because we were
on the water side of him, and he would have had to climb over us to do it.
	George and I gazed all about.  Then we gazed at each other.
	"Has he been snatched up to heaven?" I queried.
	"They'd hardly have taken the pie, too," said George.
	There seemed weight in this objection, and we discarded the heavenly
theory.
	"I suppose the truth of the matter is," suggested George, descending
to the commonplace and practicable, "that there has been an earthquake."
	And then he added, with a touch of sadness in his voice: "I wish he
hadn't been carving that pie."
		-- Jerome K. Jerome, "Three Men In A Boat"

Harrisberger's Fourth Law of the Lab:
	Experience is directly proportional to the amount of
	equipment ruined.

Harrison's Postulate:
For every action, there is an equal and opposite criticism.

Harris's Lament:
	All the good ones are taken.

Harry and Fred were playing their Sunday afternoon golf game.  The game, as
always, was close.  They were at the treacherous 12th hole: a par three that
required a perfect first shot over a large pond and onto a tiny green.  There
were sand traps on the other three sides of the green, and a small road 50
feet beyond it.  Harry went first.  He carefully addressed the ball and hit
a good shot that landed just on the edge of the green, narrowly avoiding the
pond.  Just as Fred addressed his ball, he looked up and noticed a funeral
procession along the road just behind the green.  Fred put down his club,
took his hat off, and waited for the entire procession to pass.  As soon as
the cars were gone he put his hat back on and started addressing the ball
again.  Harry said, "Damn, Fred.  That was a really nice thing you did,
waiting for the funeral to pass like that."
	Fred finished his swing, making perfect contact with the ball.  It
was an excellent shot that landed 7 feet from the hole.  "It's the least I
could do," he said, smiling at his shot, "We were married for 22 years,
you know."

Harry is heavily into camping, and every year in the late fall, he
makes us all go to Assateague, which is an island on the Atlantic Ocean
famous for its wild horses.  I realize that the concept of wild horses
probably stirs romantic notions in many of you, but this is because you
have never met any wild horses in person.  In person, they are like
enormous hooved rats.  They amble up to your camp site, and their
attitude is: "We're wild horses.  We're going to eat your food, knock
down your tent and poop on your shoes.  We're protected by federal law,
just like Richard Nixon."
		-- Dave Barry, "Tenting Grandpa Bob"

Harry's bar has a new cocktail.  It's called MRS punch.  They make it with
milk, rum and sugar and it's wonderful.  The milk is for vitality and the
sugar is for pep.  They put in the rum so that people will know what to do
with all that pep and vitality.

Hartley's First Law:
	You can lead a horse to water, but if you can
	get him to float on his back, you've got something.

Hartley's Second Law:
	Never sleep with anyone crazier than yourself.

My corollary:
	The completely psychotic have all the fun.