There was a nun whose worn out body began to surrender. Her doctor prescribed for her a shot of whiskey three times a day to relax her. Not to be lured into “worldly pleasures,” she huffily declined.

But the Mother Superior knew the elderly sister loved milk. So she instructed the kitchen to spike the milk three times a day.

After a few more years, even that spiked milk couldn’t help, and the aged sister approached her final hour. As several nuns gathered around her at her bedside, the Mother Superior asked if she wanted to leave them with any words of wisdom.

“Oh, yes,” she replied weakly. “Never sell that cow!”

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A young American arriving in England in 1961 for postgraduate study at Oxford went to visit American-born poet T. S. Eliot. As he was leaving, he noticed that the poet was apparently searching for the right remark with which to bid him farewell.

“Forty years ago I went from Harvard to Oxford,” Eliot began. There was a prolonged pause while the younger man waited breathlessly for the poet’s words of wisdom.

Finally Eliot said, “Have you any long underwear?”

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