L. Frank Baum
For sale: baby slippers (tornado damage).
Purchased: Vampire baby shoes, eternally worn.
Selling: Couture baby shoes; withering disapproval.
Baby beach shoes, worn on Nantucket!
Selling baby clown shoes — sewer-worn.
Selling shoes, baby gone… (is she?)
Babies in shoes, leading the way.
For sale: baby hedgehog shoes. Pity.
Baby shoes: contact the Other Mother.
Lost baby? Jack Reacher’s headed in!
Darling baby shoes. Baby sold separately.
Damnable infantile galosh, escrowed, wholly unshopsoiled.
Available: Tragically haunting, ghostly baby shoes.
Ann M. Martin
We pluckily handle baby shoe problems!
Free! Plusgood shoes: monitor baby thoughts.
Unsold baby shoes are true camp.
Baby shoe-sale, via spontaneous time-travel.
Egad! Baby shoes under the sea!
Baby shoes: not an available option.
A baby shoe…
Unbaby shoes. 50 tokens. Praise be!
George R.R. Martin
Tyrion Lannister gazed upon a pair of babe’s boots at the market in Fleabottom. “Boots for a babe. Never worn. One Golden Dragon.” Tyrion grinned slyly. They were pathetic little things — not unlike myself, Tyrion thought. The babe’s boots had certainly been worn before by many babes. Babes who suckled at their mother’s teat. So many babes, so many teats. Tyrion smiled at the thought – he hadn’t been with a woman in so long. But his mind immediately went back to the boots, which were so worn that Tyrion wondered if the first babe to wear them survived the Doom of Valyria and sailed all the way to Westeros in them, passing them along to generations of babes. That’s a good story, Tyrion thought. Tyrion bought the booties and went to the docks to stare at turtles for the next nine hours.
This baby shoe is, metaphorically, Jesus.