The stories of childhood leave an indelible impression, and their author always has a niche in the temple of memory from which the image is never cast out to be thrown on the rubbish heap of things that are outgrown and outlived.

Will you come with me, sweet Reader? I thank you. Give me your hand.

What is done is done; and the cracked egg cannot be cured.

Throw your heart into the picture and then jump in after it.

The student learns rules but all the rules in the world never make a picture.

You who so plod amid serious things that you feel it shame to give yourself up even for a few short moments to mirth and joyousness in the land of Fancy; you who think that life hath not to do with innocent laughter that can harm no one; these pages are not for you.

Art is the expression of those beauties and emotions that stir the human soul.