I Am Angry Nearly Every Day Of

I Think We Are All Hopelessly Flawed.

A Child Her Wayward Pencil Drew On Margins Of Her Book; Garlands Of Flower, Dancing Elves, Bud, Butterfly, And Brook, Lessons Undone, And Plum Forgot, Seeking With Hand And Heart The Teacher Whom She Learned To Love Before She Knew T'was Art.

A Time Will Come When You Will Find That In Gaining A Brief Joy You Have Lost Your Peace Forever.

The Young People Were Playing That Still More Absorbing Game In Which Hearts Are Always Trumps.

It Was Fortunate That Tea Was At Hand, To Produce A Lull And Provide Refreshment,— For They Would Have Been Hoarse And Faint If They Had Gone On Much Longer.