It's Like The Sound Of

The Sun Looks Down On Nothing Half So Good As A Household Laughing Together Over A Meal.

Ah, You've Come Over The Water. Powerful Wet Stuff, Ain't It?

The Demand Of The Loveless And The Self-imprisoned That They Should Be Allowed To Blackmail The Universe: That Till They Consent To Be Happy (on Their Own Terms) No One Else Shall Taste Joy: That Theirs Should Be The Final Power; That Hell Should Be Able To Veto Heaven.

If Our Deepest Desires Cannot Be Satisfied In This World, Then We Must Have Been Made For Another World.

The Moment Good Taste Knows Itself, Some Of Its Goodness Is Lost.