My theory is to enjoy life, but my practice is against it.

I am in love with this green Earth.

Who has not felt how sadly sweet The dream of home, the dream of home, Steals o'er the heart, too soon to fleet, When far o'er sea or land we roam?

I hate a man who swallows [his food], affecting not to know what he is eating. I suspect his taste in higher matters.

I have been trying all my life to like Scotchmen, and am obliged to desist from the experiment in despair.

Mother's love grows by giving.

Shut not thy purse-strings always against painted distress.