I Suppose It's Like The Ticking Crocodile,

Because You See When A New Baby Laughs For The First Time A New Fairy Is Born, And As There Are Always New Babies There Are Always New Fairies. They Live In Nests On The Tops Of Trees; And The Mauve Ones Are Boys And The White Ones Are Girls, And The Blue Ones Are Just Little Sillies Who Are Not Sure What They Are.

She Adored All Beautiful Things In Their Every Curve And Fragrance, So That They Became Part Of Her. Day By Day, She Gathered Beauty; Had She Had No Heart (she Who Was The Bosom Of Womanhood) Her Thoughts Would Still Have Been As Lilies, Because The Good Is The Beautiful.

The Moment You Doubt Whether You Can Fly, You Cease For Ever To Be Able To Do It.

Why Can't You Fly Now, Mother?" "because I Am Grown Up, Dearest. When People Grow Up They Forget The Way." "why Do They Forget The Way?" "because They Are No Longer Gay And Innocent And Heartless. It Is Only The Gay And Innocent And Heartless Who Can Fly.

I've Sometimes Thought . . . That The Difference Between Us And The English Is That The Scotch Are Hard In All Other Respects But Soft With Women, And The English Are Hard With Women But Soft In All Other Respects.