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.
Constance Fenimore WoolsonAre 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?
Constance Fenimore Woolsonwarm-heartedness generally begins at home, and those who are warm to others are warmer to themselves; it is but the overflow.
Constance Fenimore Woolson