All is fish that comes to the literary net. Goethe puts his joys and sorrows into poems, I turn my adventures into bread and butter.

Laurie, you're an angel! How shall I ever thank you?" "Fly at me again. I rather liked it," said Laurie, looking mischievous, a thing he had not done for a fortnight.

To me, love isn't all. I must look up, not down, trust and honor with my whole heart, and find strenght and integrity to lean on

A holiday isn't a holiday, without plenty of freedom and fun.

Prosperity suits some people, and they blossom best in a glow of sunshine; others need the shade, and are the sweeter for a touch of frost.

It's a great comfort to have an artistic sister.

Poor dull Concord. Nothing colorful has come through here since the Redcoats.