At Seventeen Dreams Do Satisfy Because You

Perhaps, After All, Romance Did Not Come Into One’s Life With Pomp And Blare, Like A Gay Knight Riding Down; Perhaps It Crept To One’s Side Like An Old Friend Through Quiet Ways; Perhaps It Revealed Itself In Seeming Prose, Until Some Sudden Shaft Of Illumination Flung Athwart Its Pages Betrayed The Rhythm And The Music, Perhaps . . . Perhaps . . . Love Unfolded Naturally Out Of A Beautiful Friendship, As A Golden-hearted Rose Slipping From Its Green Sheath.

Let's Not Borrow Trouble. The Rate Of Interest Is Too High.

Never Write A Line You'd Be Ashamed To Read At Your Own Funeral.

Don't Be Led Away By Those Howls About Realism. Remember-pine Woods Are Just As Real As Pigsties And A Darn Sight Pleasanter To Be In.

It Was Three O'clock In The Morning – The Wisest And Most Accursed Hour Of The Clock. But Sometimes It Sets Us Free.