I Read In A Book Once That

Nothing Mattered Much To Me For A Time There, After You Told Me You Could Never Love Me, Anne. There Was Nobody Else -- There Never Could Be Anybody Else For Me But You. I've Loved You Ever Since That Day You Broke Your Slate Over My Head In School.

The Trouble With You People Is That You Don't Laugh Enough.

But Anne With Her Elbows On The Window Sill, Her Soft Cheek Laid Against Her Clasped Hands, And Her Eyes Filled With Visions, Looked Out Unheedingly Across City Roof And Spire To That Glorious Dome Of Sunset Sky And Wove Her Dreams Of A Possible Future From The Golden Tissue Of Youth's Own Optimism. All The Beyond Was Hers, With Its Possibilities Lurking Rosily In The Oncoming Years — Each Year A Rose Of Promise To Be Woven Into An Immortal Chaplet.

Houses Are Like People - Some You Like And Some You Don't Like - And Once In A While There Is One You Love.

Fear Is A Vile Thing, And Is At The Bottom Of Almost Every Wrong And Hatred Of The World.