The French Cook; We Open Tins.

Love Could Never Come To Full Fruition Till It Was Destroyed.

It Is An Age Of Stir And Change, A Season Of New Wine And Old Bottles. Yet, Assuredly, In Spite Of Breakages And Waste, A Wine Worth The Drinking Is All The Time Being Made.

Life Calls The Tune, We Dance.

He Was Afflicted By The Thought That Where Beauty Was, Nothing Ever Ran Quite Straight, Which No Doubt, Was Why So Many People Looked On It As Immoral.

I Am Still Under The Impression That There Is Nothing Alive Quite So Beautiful As A Thoroughbred Horse.