My Only Books Were Woman's Looks,- And

The English Writer, Charles Lamb, Said One Day: "i Hate That Man." "but You Don't Know Him." "of Course, I Don't," Said Lamb. "do You Think I Could Possibly Hate A Man I Know?"

For With G. D., To Be Absent From The Body Is Sometimes (not To Speak Profanely) To Be Present With The Lord.

A Sweet Child Is The Sweetest Thing In Nature.

An Album Is A Garden, Not For Show Planted, But Use; Where Wholesome Herbs Should Grow.

His Voice Was The Most Obnoxious Squeak I Ever Was Tormented With.