And The Tear That We Shed, Though

Mother's Love Grows By Giving.

A Sweet Child Is The Sweetest Thing In Nature.

A Garden Was The Primitive Prison, Till Man With Promethean Felicity And Boldness, Luckily Sinned Himself Out Of It.

The English Writer, Charles Lamb, Said One Day: "i Hate That Man." "but You Don't Know Him." "of Course, I Don't," Said Lamb. "do You Think I Could Possibly Hate A Man I Know?"

How I Like To Be Liked, And What I Do To Be Liked!