Better To Be Safe Than

A Baby Was Sleeping, Its Mother Was Weeping.

When Once The Itch Of Literature Comes Over A Man, Nothing Can Cure It But The Scratching Of A Pen. But If You Have Not A Pen, I Suppose You Must Scratch Any Way You Can.

Come Live In My Heart, And Pay No Rent.

To Return After Long Years Of Painful Absence To Some Place Which Has Been The Scene Of Our Former Joys, And Whence The Force Of Circumstance, And Not Choice, Has Driven Us, Is Oppressive To The Heart.

Where's The Snow That Fell The Year That's Fled--where's The Snow?