We're Children. We're Supposed To Be Childish.

And All Was Black And Still, And Black And Cold, And Black And Dead, And Black.

You Are Grown So Very Great Now, Yet The Higher A Man Climbs The Farther He Has To Fall.

How Much Can A Crown Be Worth, When A Crow Can Dine Upon A King?

My Dreams Are The Usual Incoherent Nonsense. Like Most Writers, At Some Point In My Career I Thought, Well, I Have These Great Dreams But I Always Forget Them In The Morning So I’ll Leave A Pad On My Bedside Table So I Can Write It Down, And Then You Have Some Incredible Dream And You Write It Down And The Next Morning You Wake Up And You’ve Written ‘purple Socks’.

Have A Care How You Speak To Me, Imp. Doubtless He Meant To Sound Threatening, But That Absurd Wisp Of A Mustache Ruined The Effect.