I Know Not, Sir, Whether Bacon Wrote

Love, It Is Said, Is Blind, But Love Is Not Blind. It Is An Extra Eye, Which Shows Us What Is Most Worthy Of Regard. To See The Best Is To See Most Clearly, And It Is The Lover's Privilege.

We Should Be Slower To Think That The Man At His Worst Is The Real Man, And Certain That The Better We Are Ourselves The Less Likely Is He To Be At His Worst In Our Company. Every Time He Talks Away His Own Character Before Us He Is Signifying Contempt For Ours.

The Fairies, As Their Custom, Clapped Their Hands With Delight Over Their Cleverness, And They Were So Madly In Love With The Little House That They Could Not Bear To Think They Had Finished It.

It's A Sort Of Bloom On A Woman. If You Have It, You Don't Need To Have Anything Else, And If You Don't Have It, It Doesn't Much Matter What Else You Have. Some Women, The Few, Have Charm For All; And Most Have Charm For One. But Some Have Charm For None.

And If He Forgets Them So Quickly," Wendy Argued, "how Can We Expect That He Will Go On Remembering Us?