Time is not so all-erasing as we think.

a daughter's love for a kind father ... is mixed with the careless happiness of childhood, which can never come again. Into the father's grave the daughter, sometimes a gray-haired woman, lays away forever the little pet names and memories which to all the rest of the world are but foolishness.

It is easy to be humble when a greater is preferred; but when an inferior is lifted high above our heads, how can we bear it?

warm-heartedness generally begins at home, and those who are warm to others are warmer to themselves; it is but the overflow.

My only wickedness is that I love you; my only goodness, the same.

Are we to go out with trumpets and tell everything we know, just because it is true? Is there not such a thing as egotistical truthfulness?

Time is not so all-erasing as we think.