Moving between the legs of tables and of chairs, rising or falling, grasping at kisses and toys, advancing boldly, sudden to take alarm, retreating to the corner of arm and knee, eager to be reassured, taking pleasure in the fragrant brilliance of the Christmas tree.

''I have no name:'' I am but two days old. ''What shall I call thee?'' I happy am, ''Joy is my name.'' sweet joy befall thee!

We have not all had the good fortune to be ladies. We have not all been generals, or poets, or statesmen; but when the toast works down to the babies, we stand on common ground.

Since people are going to be living longer and getting older, they'll just have to learn how to be babies longer.

I have no name: I am but two days old. What shall I call thee? I happy am, Joy is my name. Sweet joy befall thee!

It is a pleasant thing to reflect upon, and furnishes a complete answer to those who contend for the gradual degeneration of the human species, that every baby born into the world is a finer one than the last.

Diaper backward spells repaid. Think about it.

A baby is God's opinion that life should go on.

Infancy conforms to nobody: all conform to it, so that one babe commonly makes four or five out of the adults who prattle and play to it.

A soiled baby, with a neglected nose, cannot be conscientiously regarded as a thing of beauty.