It must wear paint if it is to attract attention and make a profit." "There is philosophy in the comparison," said Wogan.
"Sir, an innkeeper cannot fail of philosophy if he has his eyes and a spark of intelligence.

The man who took refuge in a tub because the follies of his fellows so angered him was the greatest fool of them all.
He should have kept an inn on the road to Athens, for then the follies would have put money into his pocket and made him laugh instead of growl." His wife came over to the fireplace and lifted the lid of the pot.
"The supper is ready," said she.
"And perhaps, sir, while you are eating it you can think of a name for my inn." "Why, it has a sign-board already," said Wogan, "and a name, too, I suppose." "It has a sign-board, but without a device," said the landlord, and while Wogan drew a chair to the table he explained his predicament.
"There is another inn five miles along the road, and travellers prefer to make their halt there.

They will not stop here.

My father, sir, set it all down to paint.

It was his dream, sir, to paint the house from floor to ceiling; his last words bade me pinch and save until I could paint.