Eighty Percent Of Our Criminals Come From

In The Middle Of A Garden Grew A Rose Tree; It Was Full Of Roses, And In The Loveliest Of Them All Lived An Elf. He Was So Tiny That No Human Eye Could See Him. He Had A Snug Little Room Behind Every Petal Of The Rose. He Was As Well Made And As Perfect As Any Human Child, And He Had Wings Reaching From His Shoulders To His Feet. Oh, What A Delicious Scent There Was In His Room, And How Lovely And Transparent The Walls Were, For They Were Palest Pink, Rose Petals.

Farewell, Farewell," Said The Swallow, With A Heavy Heart, As He Left The Warm Countries, To Fly Back Into Denmark. There He Had A Nest Over The Window Of A House In Which Dwelt The Writer Of Fairy Tales. The Swallow Sang "tweet, Tweet," And From His Song Came The Whole Story.

Death Walks Faster Than The Wind And Never Returns What He Has Taken.

We Haven't Yet Got Eyes That Can Gaze Into All The Splendour That God Has Created, But We Shall Get Them One Day; And That Will Be The Finest Fairy Tale Of All, For We Shall Be In It Ourselves.

Being Born In A Duck Yard Does Not Matter, If Only You Are Hatched From A Swan's Egg.