Behind Every Myth Lies A

A Mother's Hardest To Forgive. Life Is The Fruit She Longs To Hand You Ripe On A Plate. And While You Live, Relentlessly She Understands You.

Oh, Princes Thrive On Caviar, The Poor On Whey And Curds, / And Politicians, I Infer, Must Eat Their Windy Words. / It's Crusts That Feed The Virtuous, It's Cake That Comforts Sinners, / But Writers Live On Bread And Praise At Literary Dinners.

Tomorrow Will Come And Today Will Pass, / But The Hearts Of The Young Are Brittle As Glass.

A Bookworm In Bed With A New Novel And A Good Reading Lamp Is As Much Prepared For Pleasure As A Pretty Girl At A College Dance.

Sisters Are Always Drying Their Hair. Locked Into Rooms, Alone, They Pose At The Mirror, Shoulders Bare, Trying This Way And That Their Hair, Or Fly Importunate Down The Stair To Answer The Telephone.