From a child I was fond of reading, and all the little money that came into my hands was ever laid out in books. Pleased with the 'Pilgrim's Progress,' my first collection was of John Bunyan's works in separate little volumes.
In the wintertime, in the snow country, citrus fruit was so rare, and if you got one, it was better than ambrosia.
Love is not the dying moan of a distant violin - it's the triumphant twang of a bedspring.
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