It is better to remember our love as it was in the springtime.

In 1846 the prairie town of Oak River existed only in a settler's dream.

For though love has been ridiculed and disgraced, exchanged and bartered, dragged through the courts, and sold for thirty pieces of silver, the bright, steady glow of its fire still shines on the hearth-stones of countless homes.

Except for our higher order of minds we are like the little moles under the earth carrying out blindly the work of digging, thinking our own dark passage-ways constitute all there is to the world.

There is no division nor subtraction in the heart-arithmetic of a good mother. There are only addition and multiplication.

Our souls may all be equal in the sight of the Lord, but our gumption and ingenuity ain't. So the results of man's labor will never be equal.

Sometime in their lives, everybody wanted to go home.