Most Of The Men Regarded Europe As

Funny, Isn't It, How Your Whole Life Goes By While You Think You're Only Planning The Way You're Going To Live It?

Christmas Isn't A Season. It's A Feeling.

I Sat Staring Up At A Shelf In My Workroom From Which Thirty-one Books Identically Dressed In Neat Dark Green Leather Stared Back At Me With A Sort Of Cold Hostility Like Children Who Resent Their Parents. Don't Stare At Us Like That! They Said. Don't Blame Us If We Didn't Turn Out To Be The Perfection You Expected. We Didn't Ask To Be Brought Into The World.

Now Gae Your Wa'stho'anes As Gude As Ever Happit Flesh And Blude, Yet Part We Maunthe Case Sae Hard Is, Amang The Writers And The Bardies That Lang They'll Brook The Auld I Trow, Or Neibours Cry,'weel Brook The New'.

Don't You Hate People Who Say They're Not Complaining And Then Complain?