The word unquestionably is gretagarbismo.  From Cine-Mundial, 1942.

You've heard that "Being here is better than reading about being here" (well, perhaps you haven't heard that, as there's only a single Google result for the phrase).  Be that as it may, the very first page of Tibor Fischer's Voyage to the End of the Room starts here.

The toast, "Bile the universe" is a Googlewhack.  From Coraddi, 1976.  For other weird toasts, see Of Drinking in Remembrance of the Dead.

If we were to quibble about Drunk: The Definitive Drinker's Dictionary ("O ascetic, go, and don’t quibble with those who drink the dregs," Hafez said), it would be over the fact that the book is in fact a glossary and not a dictionary, though author Paul Dickson, as a consulting editor for Merriam-Webster, would already know that.  Having compiled glossaries ourselves, we get the predicament: if every entry has the same definition (in this case, "drunk"), the entries might as well stand unadorned.  The illustrations by Brian Rea make the impressive glossary even more charming.  Can you guess the entry for this illustration?

Surprisingly, this page from a religious college's yearbook revises the Bible, changing "through a glass, darkly" (1 Corinthians 13) to "brightly," a revision used by anti-religionists.  (There's even a book with this revision as its title: Through a Glass Brightly: Using Science to See Our Species as We Really Are.)  Unable to control themselves, the yearbook editors ran with the revisionism and brought coffee into it: "Through a glass warmly."  From Mount Olive's 1963 yearbook.

"Bring lilies to altar and shrine."  From Manual and Diagrams to Accompany Metcalf's Grammars, 1901.

The 1920s slang "it's the berries" (meaning that something is impressive, desirable, fancy) was not, according to Steven D. Price, connected to the expression "the bee's knees."  That means that these "berries" were pollinated in an untraditional manner!  The speech bubble reads, "I guess I'm not the 'berries'?"  From Middle Tennesee's 1927 yearbook.

This is the only instance of "Jimineezers" we've found in print.  From The Adventures of Nancy and Nick in Scrub-Up-Land by Olive Roberts Barton and illustrated by E. R. Higgins, 1921.

From The Film Daily, 1944.

We're delighted that our One-Letter Words: A Dictionary features prominently in The Irish Times.  Columnist Frank McNally wondered whether our chapter on the letter R included the "great R of our times, the coronavirus reproduction rate":

The viral R is conspicuously absent from one of the more eccentric lexicons on my bookshelf, A Dictionary of One-Letter Words by Craig Conley, published back in 2005, when Sars was the worst health crisis facing the world.

Conley’s entries for the letter instead include the fact that it is a movie rating guide, that it was the old Roman numeral for 80, and that in algebra, it represents “a square upper triangular invertible matrix with positive entries on its diagonal”. Phew. It was also one of several letters with which, in the past, criminals were branded. To be R-rated in that context meant you were a “rogue”.

Under the subheading of “literature”, meanwhile, the dictionary includes a quotation from Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca, wherein the unnamed narrator finds a book dedicated by her husband to his previous love, the Rebecca of the title and, tearing the page out, throws it into the fire, watching it disappear: “The letter R was the last to go, it twisted in the flame, it curled outwards for a moment, becoming larger than ever. Then it crumpled too; the flame destroyed it. It was not ashes even, it was feathery dust.”

Read in the context of the pandemic, that passage carries an optimistic message. As we look forward to a curve-flattening summer and autumn, we all hope to see the R crumple and disappear. 

Less happily, in the book, the memory of Rebecca haunts the narrator throughout. But on the plus side, I find on looking up the rest of that passage in the original text, that it continues, aptly: “I went and washed my hands in the basin. I felt better, much better.”

The Big U says, quoting Shaggy's "You":

"I see you, you, you, ayy."

The Big U is from Wid's Daily, 1919.

Asking for "coabberation" on whether or not he's dead.  From Swarthmore's 1956 yearbook.

Two pronunciations of "row."  From Kansas State's 1907 yearbook.

"Hullawhaloopity" is a Googlewhack to this day.  From The Gateway, 1975.

Only if you can decode the name of this (defunct?) New Zealand band, check out their amazing shoegaze track "Burn One" [link goes to Bandcamp].

"The moon's veil is both her luster and her shade."  From Manual and Diagrams to Accompany Metcalf's Grammars, 1901.

Though Wikipedia dates the oath "Sakes alive" from the 1930s to the 1950s, here it is in 1918.  Sakes alive, Wikipedia!  From Doctor Rabbit and Ki-yi Coyote by Thomas Hinkle, 1918.

I'm not sure that calling otherworldly beings "macrobes" (opposite of "microbes") ever caught on.  From Tico Times (San Jose), via UFO Newsclipping Service, 1994.

You've spotted the problem with the affirmation: everything may or may not be okay ... but everything will be OK as in Oklahoma.  (Yes, we did a Google search for "Everything will be Oklahoma.")  (For 6thSensical.)

"Love (a beautiful four letter word)."  (We noticed several less-beautiful four-letter words hidden within those letters, too.  How many can you spot?  Also, did you notice that this alphanet has two e's and two v's?)  From B.A.R., 1971.