Ach, Tchekov! Why Are You Dead? Why

But One Day We Shall Be Rich, And The Next Poor. One Day We Shall Dine In A Palace And The Next We'll Sit In A Forest And Toast Mushrooms On A Hatpin.

You Might Drop Your Heart Into Me And You'd Never Hear It Touch Bottom.

No, No The Mind I Love Must Still Have Wild Places - A Tangled Orchard Where Dark Damsons Drop In The Heavy Grass, An Overgrown Litde Wood, The Chance Of A Snake Or Two (real Snakes), A Pool That Nobody's Fathomed The Depth Of, And Paths Threaded With Those Litde Flowers Planted By The Wind.

Conversation Is Like A Dear Little Baby That Is Brought In To Be Handed Round. You Must Rock It, Nurse It, Keep It On The Move If You Want It To Keep Smiling.

I Have Such A Horror Of Telegrams That Ask Me How I Am!! I Always Want To Reply Dead.