Oh, what a tangled web do parents weave, when they think that their children are naive.
Tonight's December thirty-first, something is about to burst. The clock is crouching, dark and small, like a time bomb in the hall. Hark, it's midnight, children dear. Duck! Here comes another year!
No, you never get any fun Out of the things you haven't done.
Parents were invented to make children happy by giving them something to ignore.
Life has a tendency to obfuscate and bewilder, Such as fating us to spend the first part of our lives being embarrassed by our parents and the last part being embarrassed by our children.
The Preacher, the Politicain, the Teacher, Were each of them once a kiddie. A child, indeed, is a wonderful creature. Do I want one? God Forbiddie!
The burnt child, urged by rankling ire, Can hardly wait to get back at the fire.
But children, hark! Your mother would rather, When you arrived, have been your father.
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