By then she's lost in the land of sleep and he is too, and when they go there they never go together, and she is afraid that it is also a preview of death, a place where there may be dreams but never love, never home, never a hand to hold yours when squadrons of birds flock across the burnt-orange sun at the close of the day.

People believe in superstitions more than in god.

Diplomacy is the art of saying &#39;Nice doggie&#39; until you can find a rock.

She thought of a new way to kill my love for the beautiful Munchkin maiden, and made my axe slip again, so that it cut right through my body, splitting me into two halves.

Written By L. Frank Baum

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