Spring ... Made Fair False Promises Which

Nicknames Are Fond Names. We Do Not Give Them To People We Dislike.

Roast Beef, Medium, Is Not Only A Food. It Is A Philosophy. Seated At Life's Dining Table, With The Menu Of Morals Before You, Your Eye Wanders A Bit Over The Entrees, The Hors D'oeuvres, And The Things A La Though You Know That Roast Beef, Medium, Is Safe And Sane, And Sure.

Only Amateurs Say That They Write For Their Own Amusement. Writing Is Not An Amusing Occupation. It Is A Combination Of Ditch-digging, Mountain-climbing, Treadmill And Childbirth. Writing May Be Interesting, Absorbing, Exhilarating, Racking, Relieving. But Amusing? Never!

But Always, To Her, Red And Green Cabbages Were To Be Jade And Burgundy, Chrysoprase And Prophyry. Life Has No Weapons Against A Woman Like That.

Any Piece Of Furniture, I Don't Care How Beautiful It Is, Has Got To Be Lived With, And Kicked About, And Rubbed Down, And Mistreated By Servants, And Repolished, And Knocked Around And Dusted And Sat On Or Slept In Or Eaten Off Of Before It Develops Its Real Character ... A Good Deal Like Human Beings.