A Bad Workman Blames His Tools.

This House Sheltered Us, We Spoke, We Loved Within Those Walls. That Was Yesterday. To-day We Pass On, We See It No More, And We Are Different, Changed In Some Infinitesimal Way. We Can Never Be Quite The Same Again.

No, Mary Had No Illusions About Romance. Falling In Love Was A Pretty Name For It, That Was All.

I Wish I Was A Woman Of About Thirty-six Dressed In Black Satin With A String Of Pearls.

A Bad Workman Blames His Tools.

If There’s One Thing That Makes A Man Sick, It’s To Have His Ale Poured Out Of An Ugly Hand.