Procrastination Is The Thief Of

In A Utilitarian Age, Of All Other Times, It Is A Matter Of Grave Importance That Fairy Tales Should Be Respected.

Flora, Always Tall, Had Grown To Be Very Broad Too, And Short Of Breath; But That Was Not Much. Flora, Whom He Had Left A Lily, Had Become A Peony; But That Was Not Much. Flora, Who Had Seemed Enchanting In All She Said And Thought, Was Diffuse And Silly. That Was Much. Flora, Who Had Been Spoiled And Artless Long Ago, Was Determined To Be Spoiled And Artless Now. That Was A Fatal Blow.

This Is A World Of Action, And Not Moping And Droning In.

An Evening Wind Uprose Too, And The Slighter Branches Cracked And Rattled As They Moved, In Skeleton Dances, To Its Moaning Music.

There Is A Wisdom Of The Head, And A Wisdom Of The Heart.