The Lord God had created all animals, and had chosen out the wolf to be his dog.

Skin white as snow, lips red as blood, and hair black as ebony.

Turn back, turn back,thou pretty bride, Within this house thou must not abide. For here do evil things betide.

Then up he got with a light heart, free from all his troubles, and walked on till he reached his mother's house, and told her how very easy the road to good luck was.

She'll sting you one day, Oh, ever so gently, so you hardly ever feel it. 'til you fall dead.

Love is like death, it must come to us all, but to each his own unique way and time, sometimes it will be avoided, but never can it be cheated, and never will it be forgotten.

Some men are born to good luck: all they do or try to do comes right—all that falls to them is so much gain—all their geese are swans—all their cards are trumps—toss them which way you will, they will always, like poor puss, alight upon their legs, and only move on so much the faster. The world may very likely not always think of them as they think of themselves, but what care they for the world? what can it know about the matter?