Poverty And Oysters Always Seem To Go

And I Am Bored To Death With It. Bored To Death With This Place, Bored To Death With My Life, Bored To Death With Myself.

There Seems A Magic In The Very Name Of Christmas.

Then Idiots Talk....of Energy. If There Is A Word In The Dictionary Under Any Letter From A To Z That I Abominate, It Is Energy. It Is Such A Conventional Superstition, Such Parrot Gabble! What The Deuce!....but Show Me A Good Opportunity, Show Me Something Really Worth Being Energetic About, And I'll Show You Energy.

Circumstances May Accumulate So Strongly Even Against An Innocent Man, That Directed, Sharpened, And Pointed, They May Slay Him.

Sir," Returned Mrs. Sparsit, " I Cannot Say That I Have Heard Him Precisely Snore, And Therefore Must Not Make That Statement. But On Winter Evenings, When He Has Fallen Asleep At His Table, I Have Heard Him, What I Should Prefer To Describe As Partially Choke. I Have Heard Him On Such Occasions Produce Sounds Of A Nature Similar To What May Be Heard In Dutch Clocks. Not," Said Mrs. Sparsit, With A Lofty Sense Of Giving Strict Evidence, " That I Would Convey Any Imputation On His Moral Character. Far From It.