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Bill Vaughan

  • American journalist
  • Born October 8, 1915
  • Died February 25, 1977

William E. 'Bill' Vaughan (October 8, 1915 – February 25, 1977) was an American columnist and author. Born in Saint Louis, Missouri, he wrote a syndicated column for the Kansas City Star from 1946 until his death in 1977. He was published in Reader's Digest and Better Homes and Gardens under the pseudonym Burton Hillis. He attended Washington University in St. Louis. His folksy aphorisms (published in his "Starbeams" feature) are often collected in books and on Internet sites. Bill Vaughan died at age 61 of lung cancer.


Money won't buy happiness, but it will pay the salaries of a large research staff to study the problem.




Maybe the answer to Selective Service is to start everyone off in the army and draft them for civilian life as needed.




Muscles come and go; flab lasts.




Suburbia is where the developer bulldozes out the trees, then names the streets after them.




The whale is endangered, while the ant continues to do just fine.




I'm an actor. And I guess I've done so many movies I've achieved some high visibility. But a star? I guess I still think of myself as kind of a worker ant.




The Vice-Presidency is sort of like the last cookie on the plate. Everybody insists he won't take it, but somebody always does.




If there is anything the nonconformist hates worse than a conformist, it's another nonconformist who doesn't conform to the prevailing standard of nonconformity.




Man is the animal that intends to shoot himself out into interplanetary space, after having given up on the problem of an efficient way to get himself five miles to work and back each day.




People learn something every day, and a lot of times it's that what they learned the day before was wrong.




To God, thy country, and thy friend be true.




An optimist stays up until midnight to see the new year in. A pessimist stays up to make sure the old year leaves.




Economists report that a college education adds many thousands of dollars to a man's lifetime income - which he then spends sending his son to college.




Now that women are jockeys, baseball umpires, atomic scientists, and business executives, maybe someday they can master parallel parking.




A real patriot is the fellow who gets a parking ticket and rejoices that the system works.




Youth is when you're allowed to stay up late on New Year's Eve. Middle age is when you're forced to.




The groundhog is like most other prophets; it delivers its prediction and then disappears.




We hope that, when the insects take over the world, they will remember with gratitude how we took them along on all our picnics.




A three year old child is a being who gets almost as much fun out of a fifty-six dollar set of swings as it does out of finding a small green worm.




The tax collector must love poor people, he's creating so many of them.




The wonderful world of home appliances now makes it possible to cook indoors with charcoal and outdoors with gas.




A citizen of America will cross the ocean to fight for democracy, but won't cross the street to vote in a national election.




By the time you're eighty years old you've learned everything. You only have to remember it.




It would be nice if the poor were to get even half of the money that is spent in studying them.




In the game of life, it's a good idea to have a few early losses, which relieves you of the pressure of trying to maintain an undefeated season.



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