Toil Is The True Knight's Pastime.

You Are Not Very Good If You Are Not Better Than Your Best Friends Imagine You To Be.

Feelings Are Like Chemicals, The More You Analyze Them The Worse They Smell.

Ay, Marriage Is The Life-long Miracle, The Self-begetting Wonder, Daily Fresh.

You Are Literally Filled With The Fruit Of Your Own Devices, With Rats And Mice And Such Small Deer, Paramecia, And Entomostraceæ, And Kicking Things With Horrid Names, Which You See In Microscopes At The Polytechnic, And Rush Home And Call For Brandy-without The Water-stone, And Gravel, And Dyspepsia, And Fragments Of Your Own Muscular Tissue Tinged With Your Own Bile.

Be Good, Sweet Maid, And Let Who Will Be Clever.