Self-complacen Cy Is Fatal To Progress.

Love Is Like Fire, A Dangerous Thing To Play With, Although The Best Of Friends And The Most Loyal Of Servants When Rightly Handled.

At Christmas-tide The Open Hand Scatters Its Bounty O'er Sea And Land, And None Are Left To Grieve Alone, For Love Is Heaven And Claims Its Own.

In The Whole Round Of Human Affairs Little Is So Fatal To Peace As Misunderstanding.

Theres Nothing Half So Pleasant As Coming Home Again.

It Isn't The Thing You Do, Dear, It's The Thing You Leave Undone Which Gives You A Bit Of Heartache At The Setting At The Setting Of The Sun.