But The Emperor Has Nothing At All

Enjoy Life. There's Plenty Of Time To Be Dead.

Every Time A Good Child Dies, An Angel Of God Comes Down To Earth. He Takes The Child In His Arms, Spreads Out His Great White Wings, And Flies With It All Over The Places The Child Loved On Earth. The Angel Plucks A Large Handful Of Flowers, And They Carry It With Them Up To God, Where The Flowers Bloom More Brightly Than They Ever Did On Earth.

The Naive Was Only A Part Of My Fairy Tales; Humour Was The Real Salt In Them.

My Life Is A Lovely Story, Happy And Full Of Incident.

When The Bird Of The Heart Begins To Sing, Too Often Will Reason Stop Up Her Ears.