Some Folk Want Their Luck Buttered.

There's A Friendly Tie Of Some Sort Between Music And Eating.

We Colour And Mould According To The Wants Within Us Whatever Our Eyes Bring In.

Men Thin Away To Insignificance And Oblivion Quite As Often By Not Making The Most Of Good Spirits When They Have Them As By Lacking Good Spirits When They Are Indispensable.

A Novel Is An Impression, Not An Argument; And There The Matter Must Rest.

My Wicked Heart Will Ramble On In Spite Of Myself. (arabella)