I Only Appear To Be Dead.

Every Time A Good Child Dies, An Angel Of God Comes Down To Earth. He Takes The Child In His Arms, Spreads Out His Great White Wings, And Flies With It All Over The Places The Child Loved On Earth. The Angel Plucks A Large Handful Of Flowers, And They Carry It With Them Up To God, Where The Flowers Bloom More Brightly Than They Ever Did On Earth.

It Is The Power Of Thought That Gives Man Power Over Nature.

Don't Ask Me How I Am! I Understand Nothing More!

Now, If We Only Had As Many Casks Of Butter As There Are People Here, Then I Would Eat Lots Of Butter!

Eighty Percent Of Our Criminals Come From Unsympathetic Homes.