It'is Like A Book, I Think, This

Never Look Backwards Or You'll Fall Down The Stairs.

Literature Is A Splendid Mistress, But A Bad Wife.

A Thin Grey Fog Hung Over The City, And The Streets Were Very Cold; For Summer Was In England.

Tis Beauty, So To Speak, Nor Good Talk Necessarily. It's Just It. Some Women Will Stay In A Man's Memory If They Once Walked Down A Street.

Each Dog Barks In His Own Yard!