The French Cook; We Open Tins.

Love Is Not A Hot-house Flower, But A Wild Plant, Born Of A Wet Night, Born Of An Hour Of Sunshine; Sprung From Wild Seed, Blown Along The Road By A Wild Wind. A Wild Plant That, When It Blooms By Chance Within The Hedge Of Our Gardens, We Call A Flower; And When It Blooms Outside We Call A Weed; But, Flower Or Weed, Whose Scent And Colour Are Always, Wild!

A Man Is The Sum Of His Actions, Of What He Has Done, Of What He Can Do, Nothing Else.

Love Has No Age, No Limit; And No Death.

See What Perils Do Environ Those Who Meddle With Hot Iron.

He Might Wish And Wish And Never Get It - The Beauty And The Loving In The World!