A Baby Was Sleeping, Its Mother Was

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.

Better To Be Safe Than Sorry.

Circumstances Are The Rulers Of The Weak; They Are But The Instruments Of The Wise.

For Dhrames Always Go By Conthraries, My Dear.

Sure My Love Is All Crostlike A Bud In The Frostand There's No Use At All In My Going To Bed,for 't Is Dhrames And Not Slape That Comes Into My Head!