The Sun Shines Upon Good And Bad

It Is Out Of Reality That The Most Peculiar Tale Of All Is Born ... Some Call Me The Elder Granny, Others - The Dryad, But My Real Name Is Memory. It Is I Who Sits On A Tree That Keeps On Growing, And Growing, It Is I Who Reminisces And Tells Stories.

She Laughed And Danced With The Thought Of Death In Her Heart.

Far Away, Where The Swallows Take Refuge In Winter, Lived A King Who Had Eleven Sons And One Daughter, Elise. The Eleven Brothers--they Were All Princes--used To Go To School With Stars On Their Breasts And Swords At Their Sides. They Wrote Upon Golden Slates With Diamond Pencils, And Could Read Just As Well Without A Book As With One, So There Was No Mistake About Their Being Princes. Their Sister Elise Sat Upon A Little Footstool Of Looking-glass, And She Has A Picture-book Which Had Cost The Half Of A Kingdom. Oh, These Children Were Very Happy; But It Was Not To Last Thus Forever.

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

Time Is So Fleeting That If We Do Not Remember God In Our Youth, Age May Find Us Incapable Of Thinking Of Him.