Friendships Do Not Grow Up In Any

Beauty Is Ever To The Lonely Mind A Shadow Fleeting; She Is Never Plain. She Is A Visitor Who Leaves Behind The Gift Of Grief, The Souvenir Of Pain.

The Little Plumpuppets Are Fairies Of Beds; They Have Nothing To Do But Watch Sleepyheads; They Turn Down The Sheets And They Tuck You In Tight, And Dance On Your Pillow To Wish You Good Night!

Never Write Up Your Diary On The Day Itself, For It Takes Longer Than That To Know What Happened.

There Is No Mistaking A Real Book When One Meets It. It Is Like Falling In Love.

The Evening Papers Print What They Do And Get Away With It Because By Afternoon The Human Mind Is Ruined Anyhow.