Sweet Are The Little Brooks That Run

With Fingers Weary And Worn, With Eyelids Heavy And Red, A Woman Sat In Unwomanly Rags, Plying Her Needle And Thread.

The Biggest Bore Of All Is He Who Is Overflowing With Congratulations

To Attempt To Advise Conceited People Is Like Whistling Against The Wind.

Coquetry Is The Champagne Of Love.

Such A Blush In The Midst Of Brown Was Born, Like Red Poppies Grown With Corn.