What smells so? Has somebody been burning a Rag, or is there a Dead Mule in the Back yard? No, the Man is Smoking a Five-Cent Cigar.

Books do actually consume air and exhale perfumes.

All human joys are swift of wing, For heaven doth so allot it; That when you get an easy thing, You find you haven't got it

Here we have a baby. It is composed of a bald head and a pair of lungs.

Let my temptation be a book.

But I, when I undress me Each night, upon my knees Will ask the Lord to bless me With apple-pie and cheese.

No book can be appreciated until it has been slept with and dreamed over.