Ah! Some Love Paris, / And Some

Women Are Not Men's Equals In Anything Except Responsibility. We Are Not Their Inferiors, Either, Or Even Their Superiors. We Are Quite Simply Different Races.

The Wonderful Thing About Saints Is That They Were Human. They Lost Their Tempers, Got Hungry, Scolded God, Were Egotistical Or Impatient In Their Turns, Made Mistakes And Regretted Them. Still They Went On Doggedly Blundering Toward Heaven.

To Be A Housewife Is A Difficult, A Wrenching, Sometimes An Ungrateful Job If It Is Looked On Only As A Job. Regarded As A Profession, It Is The Noblest As It Is The Most Ancient Of The Catalogue. Let None Persuade Us Differently Or The World Is Lost Indeed.

Who Could Deny That Privacy Is A Jewel? It Has Always Been The Mark Of Privilege, The Distinguishing Feature Of A Truly Urbane Culture. Out Of The Cave, The Tribal Teepee, The Pueblo, The Community Fortress, Man Emerged To Build Himself A House Of His Own With A Shelter In It For Himself And His Diversions. Every Age Has Seen It So. The Poor Might Have To Huddle Together In Cities For Need's Sake, And The Frontiersman Cling To His Neighbors For The Sake Of Protection. But In Each Civilization, As It Advanced, Those Who Could Afford It Chose The Luxury Of A Withdrawing-place.

For The Hearts Of Nurses Are Solid Gold, / But Their Heels Are Flat And Their Hands Are Cold, / And Their Voices Lilt With A Lilt That's Falser / Than The Smile Of An Exhibition Waltzer. / Yes, Nurses Can Cure You, Nurses Restore You, / But Nurses Are Bound That They Do Things For You.