Oft in the stilly night, Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Fond memory brings the light Of other days around me; The smiles, the tears, Of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken; The eyes that shone Now dimmed and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken.

I hate the man who eats without knowing what he’s eating. I doubt his taste in more important things.

Credulity is the man's weakness, but the child's strength.

Tis the privilege of friendship to talk nonsense, and to have nonsense respected.

Since all the maids are good and lovable, from whence come the bad wives?

Coleridge declares that a man cannot have a good conscience who refuses apple dumplings, and I confess that I am of the same opinion.

Mother's love grows by giving.