Freebsd Fortunes 3

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 Thirteen Clocks

Hark, the Herald Tribune sings,
Advertising wondrous things.

Angels we have heard on High
Tell us to go out and Buy.

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."