There is no sorrow under heaven which is, or ought to be, endless. To believe or to make it so, is an insult to Heaven itself.
Many true words are spoken in jest.
Action is the parent of results; dormancy, the brooding mother of discontent.
Happiness! Can any human being undertake to define it for another?
We are all of us very perfect creatures so long as we are not tried.
A parent, unlike a poet, is not born - he is made.