You May Tire Of Reality But You

He Had Also The Reputation Of Being A Bit Of A Lady Killer. But That Probably Accrued To Him From His Possession Of A Laughing, Velvety Voice Which No Girl Could Hear Without A Heartbeat, And A Dangerous Way Of Listening As If She Were Saying Something That He Had Longed All His Life To Hear.

There Is So Much In The World For Us All If We Only Have The Eyes To See It, And The Heart To Love It, And The Hand To Gather It To Ourselves--so Much In Men And Women, So Much In Art And Literature, So Much Everywhere In Which To Delight, And For Which To Be Thankful.

One June Evening, When The Orchards Were Pink-blossomed Again, When The Frogs Were Singing Silverly Sweet In The Marshes About The Head Of The Lake Of Shining Waters, And The Air Was Full Of The Savor Of Clover Fields And Balsamic Fir Woods, Anne Was Sitting By Her Gable Window. She Had Been Studying Her Lessons, But It Had Grown Too Dark To See The Book, So She Had Fallen Into Wide-eyed Reverie, Looking Out Past The Boughs Of The Snow Queen, Once More Bestarred With Its Tufts Of Blossom.

But Feeling Is So Different From Knowing. My Common Sense Tells Me All You Can Say, But There Are Times When Common Sense Has No Power Over Me. Common Nonsense Takes Possession Of My Soul.

And If You Couldn't Be Loved, The Next Best Thing Was To Be Let Alone.