Everybody Has Won, And All Must Have

Why, What A Temper You Are In!

In Some Ways, You Know, People That Don't Exist, Are Much Nicer Than People That Do.

In Autumn, When The Leaves Are Brown, Take Pen And Ink, And Write It Down.

Come, Hearken Then, Ere Voice Of Dread, With Bitter Tiding Laden, Shall Summon To Unwelcome Bed A Melancholy Maiden! We Are But Older Children, Dear, Who Fret To Find Our Bedtime Near.

That Which Chiefly Causes The Failure Of A Dinner-party, Is The Running Short--not Of Meat, Nor Yet Of Drink, But Of Conversation.