But I'm Not To Be Caught With

In The Carriages Of The Past, You Can't Go Anywhere.

Writers Build Castles In The Air, The Reader Lives Inside, And The Publisher Inns The Rent.

Happiness Always Looks Small While You Hold It In Your Hands, But Let It Go, And You Learn At Once How Big And Precious It Is.

It Is Quiet And Peaceful Here, The Air Is Good, There Are Numerous Gardens, And In Them Nightingales Sing And Spies Lurk Under The Bushes.

When The Life Is Monotonous , Even Grief Is A Welcome Event.