But The Emperor Has Nothing At All

He Looked At The Little Maiden, And She Looked At Him; And He Felt That He Was Melting Away, But He Still Managed To Keep Himself Erect, Shouldering His Gun Bravely. A Door Was Suddenly Opened, The Draught Caught The Little Dancer And She Fluttered Like A Sylph, Straight Into The Fire, To The Soldier, Blazed Up And Was Gone! By This Time The Soldier Was Reduced To A Mere Lump, And When The Maid Took Away The Ashes Next Morning She Found Him, In The Shape Of A Small Tin Heart. All That Was Left Of The Dancer Was Her Spangle, And That Was Burnt As Black As A Coal.

Well, Yes: People Write Poems When They Are In Love, But A Wise Man Will Not Print Them.

The Wiser A Man Becomes, The More He Will Read, And Those Who Are Wisest Read Most.

Everything You Look At Can Become A Fairy Tale And You Can Get A Story From Everything You Touch.

The Sun Shines Upon Good And Bad Alike.