One Can Love Any Man That Is

Green Little Vaulter, In The Sunny Grass, Catching Your Heart Up At The Feel Of June, Sole Noise That's Heard Amidst The Lazy Noon, When Ev'n The Bees Lag At The Summoning Brass.

The Beautiful Attracts The Beautiful.

Your Second-hand Bookseller Is Second To None In The Worth Of The Treasures He Dispenses.

Stolen Kisses Are Always Sweetest.

Nature, At All Events, Humanly Speaking, Is Manifestly Very Fond Of Color; For She Has Made Nothing Without It. Her Skies Are Blue; Her Fields, Green; Her Waters Vary With Her Skies; Her Animals, Vegetables, Minerals, Are All Colored. She Paints A Great Any Of Them In Apparently Superfluous Hues, As If To Show The Dullest Eye How She Loves Color.