It's An Odd Job, Making

There Is Something Inexpressibly Charming In Falling In Love And, Surely, The Whole Pleasure Lies In The Fact That Love Isn't Lasting.

Ah, There Are No Longer Any Children!

All Which Is Not Prose Is Verse; And All Which Is Not Verse Is Prose.

How Easily A Fathers Tenderness Is Recalled, And How Quickly A Son's Offenses Vanish At The Slightest Word Of Repentance!

Words And Deeds Are Far From Being One. Much That Is Talked About Is Left Undone.