The World Is God's World, After All.

[a]ll The Ingenious Men, And All The Scientific Men, And All The Fanciful Men, In The World,... Could Never Invent, If All Their Wits Were Boiled Into One, Anything So Curious And So Ridiculous As A Lobster.

Nothing Is So Infectious As Example.

Now, To Tell My Story--if Not As It Ought To Be Told, At Least As I Can Tell It,--i Must Go Back Sixteen Years, To The Days When Whitbury Boasted Of Forty Coaches Per Diem, Instead Of One Railway, And Set Forth How In Its Southern Suburb, There Stood Two Pleasant House Side By Side, With Their Gardens Sloping Down To The Whit, And Parted From Each Other Only By The High Brick Fruit-wall, Through Which There Used To Be A Door Of Communication; For The Two Occupiers Were Fast Friends.

Three Fishers Went Sailing Away To The West,/ Away To The West As The Sun Went Down.

Except A Living Man, There Is Nothing More Wonderful Than A Book.