Those Wearing Tolerance For A Label Call

A Bit Of Trash Now And Then Is Good For The Severest Reader. It Provides The Necessary Roughage In The Literary Diet.

In Spring When Maple Buds Are Red, We Turn The Clock An Hour Ahead; Which Means, Each April That Arrives, We Lose An Hour Out Of Our Lives. Who Cares? When Autumn Birds In Flocks Fly Southward, Back We Turn The Clocks, And So Regain A Lovely Thing That Missing Hour We Lost In Spring.

It's Hard / Keeping Up With The Avant-garde.

There Are Books That One Needs Maturity To Enjoy Just As There Are Books An Adult Can Come On Too Late To Savor.

Words Can Sting Like Anything, But Silence Breaks The Heart.