A Baby Was Sleeping, Its Mother Was

Sure The Shovel And Tongs To Each Other Belongs.

When Once The Itch Of Literature Comes Over A Man, Nothing Can Cure It But The Scratching Of A Pen. But If You Have Not A Pen, I Suppose You Must Scratch Any Way You Can.

For Dhrames Always Go By Conthraries, My Dear.

There's Luck In Odd Numbers.

Too Little Is It Considered, While We Gaze On Aristocratic Beauty, How Much Good Food, Soft Lying, Warm Wrapping, Ease Of Mind, Have To Do With The Attractions Which Command Our Admiration.