Eighty Percent Of Our Criminals

In The Middle Of A Garden Grew A Rose Tree; It Was Full Of Roses, And In The Loveliest Of Them All Lived An Elf. He Was So Tiny That No Human Eye Could See Him. He Had A Snug Little Room Behind Every Petal Of The Rose. He Was As Well Made And As Perfect As Any Human Child, And He Had Wings Reaching From His Shoulders To His Feet. Oh, What A Delicious Scent There Was In His Room, And How Lovely And Transparent The Walls Were, For They Were Palest Pink, Rose Petals.

If You Looked Down To The Bottom Of My Soul, You Would Understand Fully The Source Of My Longing And – Pity Me. Even The Open, Transparent Lake Has Its Unknown Depths, Which No Divers Know.

The Wiser A Man Becomes, The More He Will Read, And Those Who Are Wisest Read Most.

Every Town, Like Every Man, Has Its Own Countenance; They Have A Common Likeness And Yet Are Different; One Keeps In His Mind All Their Peculiar Touches.

Well, Yes: People Write Poems When They Are In Love, But A Wise Man Will Not Print Them.