What A Shame That Allowances Have To

When We Discuss Those We Love With Those Who Do Not Love Them, The End Of Love Is Near.

I Know Which Side My Bread Is Buttered On: The Side Which Falls On The Carpet.

No One Ever Loved Anyone The Way That Person Wanted To Be Loved.

Men Prefer Brief Praise, Pitched High; Women Are Satisfied With Praise In A Lower Key, Just So It Goes On And On.

The Fault We Admit To Is Seldom The Fault We Have, But It Has A Certain Relationship To It, A Somewhat Similar Shape, Like That Of A Sleeve To An Arm.