Poetry Is The Breath Of Beauty.

Stolen Sweets Are Always Sweeter, Stolen Kisses Much Completer, Stolen Looks Are Nice In Chapels, Stolen, Stolen Be Your Apples.

Those Who Have Lost An Infant Are Never, As It Were, Without An Infant Child. Their Other Children Grow Up To Manhood And Womanhood, And Suffer All The Changes Of Mortality; But This One Alone Is Rendered An Immortal Child; For Death Has Arrested It With His Kindly Harshness, And Blessed It Into An Eternal Image Of Youth And Innocence.

We Must Regard All Matter As An Intrusted Secret Which We Believe The Person Concerned Would Wish To Be Considered As Such. Nay, Further Still, We Must Consider All Circumstances As Secrets Intrusted Which Would Bring Scandal Upon Another If Told.

Little Eyes Must Be Good-tempered Or They Are Ruined. They Have No Other Resource. But This Will Beautify Them Enough. They Are Made For Laughing, And, Should Do Their Duty.

There Seems A Life In Hair, Though It Be Dead.