All the world is made of faith, and trust, and pixie dust.
To die will be an awfully big adventure.
For several days after my first book was published I carried it about in my pocket and took surreptitious peeps at it to make sure the ink had not faded.
God gave us memory so that we might have roses in December.
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Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all of one’s lifetime.