One Can't Get Over The Habit Of

Perhaps, After All, Romance Did Not Come Into One’s Life With Pomp And Blare, Like A Gay Knight Riding Down; Perhaps It Crept To One’s Side Like An Old Friend Through Quiet Ways; Perhaps It Revealed Itself In Seeming Prose, Until Some Sudden Shaft Of Illumination Flung Athwart Its Pages Betrayed The Rhythm And The Music, Perhaps . . . Perhaps . . . Love Unfolded Naturally Out Of A Beautiful Friendship, As A Golden-hearted Rose Slipping From Its Green Sheath.

The World Calls Them Its Singers And Poets And Artists And Storytellers; But They Are Just People Who Have Never Forgotten The Way To Fairyland.

It's Rather Hard To Decide Just When People Are Grown Up.

I'm Sure I Shall Always Feel Like A Child In The Wood.

It Makes You Feel Very Virtuous When You Forgive People, Doesn't It?