Eighty Percent Of Our Criminals Come From

One Cannot Quite Trust The Word Of Potted Flowers," Thought The Butterfly; "they Have Too Much To Do With Men.

Eighty Percent Of Our Criminals Come From Unsympathetic Homes.

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.

Every Town, Like Every Man, Has Its Own Countenance; They Have A Common Likeness And Yet Are Different; One Keeps In His Mind All Their Peculiar Touches.

He Found Whole Figures Which Represented A Written Word; But He Never Could Manage To Represent Just The Word He Wanted - That Word Was 'eternity', And The Snow Queen Had Said, "if You Can Discover That Figure, You Shall Be Your Own Master, And I Will Make You A Present Of The Whole World And A Pair Of New Skates." But He Could Not Find It Out.