The only medicine that does women more good than harm is dress. |
The parent is low, who having children, truly feels bored. |
The smallest children are nearest to God, as the smallest planets are nearest the sun |
The test of an enjoyment is the remembrance which it leaves behind |
The timid are afraid before the danger, the cowardly while in danger, and the courageous after danger. |
The words that a father speaks to his children in the privacy of home are not heard by the world, but, as in whispering galleries, they are clearly heard at the end, and by posterity. |
There are so many tender and holy emotions, flying about in out inward world, which, like angels, can never assume the body of an outward act; so many rich and lovely flowers spring up which bear no seed, that it is a happiness poetry was invented, w |
There are so many tender and holy emotions, flying about in out inward world, which, like angels, can never assume the body of an outward act; so many rich and lovely flowers spring up which bear no seed, that it is a happiness poetry was invented, w |
There are souls in this world which have the gift of finding joy everywhere and of leaving it behind them when they go. |
There are souls which fall from heaven like flowers, but ere they bloom are crushed under the foul tread of some brutal hoof. |
There is a joy in sorrow which none but a mourner can know. |
True, what you sacrifice for the world is but poorly recognized by it; for it is man that rules and reaps the harvest; the thousand night watches and sacrifices by which a mother secures the state a hero or a poet are forgotten, not even mentioned, for the mother herself does not mention them, and so one century after another do the wives, unknown and unrewarded send forth the arrows, the starts the storm-birds and the nightingales of time. |
Two aged men, that had been foes for life, Met by a grave, and wept - and in those tears They washed away the memory of their strife; Then wept again the loss of all those years. |
Variety of mere nothings gives more pleasure than uniformity of something |
We learn our virtues from our friends who love us; our faults from the enemy who hates us. We cannot easily discover our real character from a friend. He is a mirror, on which the warmth of our breath impedes the clearness of the reflection. |