Wise Children Always Choose A Mother Who

The Best Of Our Fiction Is By Novelists Who Allow That It Is As Good As They Can Give, And The Worst By Novelists Who Maintain That They Could Do Much Better If Only The Public Would Let Them.

Yet If He Upbraided Her In His Hurry, It Was To Repent Bitterly His Temper The Next, And To Feel Its Effects More Than She, Temper Being A Weapon That We Hold By The Blade.

All The World Is Made Of Faith, And Trust, And Pixie Dust.

You Need Not Be Sorry For Her. She Was One Of The Kind That Likes To Grow Up. In The End She Grew Up Of Her Own Free Will A Day Quicker Than The Other Girls.

There Could Not Have Been A Lovelier Sight; But There Was None To See It Except A Little Boy Who Was Staring In At The Window. He Had Ecstasies Innumerable That Other Children Can Never Know; But He Was Looking Through The Window At The One Joy From Which He Must Be For Ever Barred.