The Child's Laughter Is Pure Until He

And, Conversely, She Went On To Herself, Sneering At The Grand Duke's Palace, Poverty Is Wasted On The Poor, Who Never Know How To Make The Best Of Things, Are Only The Rich Without Money, Are Just As Useless At Looking After Themselves, Can't Handle Their Cash Just Like The Rich Can't, Always Squandering It On Bright, Pretty, Useless Things In Just The Same Way.

Stars On Our Door, Stars In Our Eyes, Stars Exploding In The Bits Of Our Brains Where The Common Sense Should Have Been

Before He Can Become A Wolf, The Lycanthrope Strips Naked. If You Spy A Naked Man Among The Pines, You Must Run As If The Devil Were After You.

This Lack Of Imagination Gives His Heroism To The Hero.

F.r. Leavis's "eat Up Your Broccoli" Approach To Fiction Emphasises This Junkfood/wholefood Dichotomy. If Reading A Novel--for Theeighteenth Century Reader, The Most Frivolous Of Diversions--did Not, By The Middle Of The Twentieth Century, Make You A Better Person In Some Way, Then You Might As Well Flush The Offending Volume Down The Toilet, Which Was By Far The Best Place For The Undigested Excreta Of Dubious Nourishment.