Happiness grows at our own firesides, and is not to be picked in strangers' gardens.
Douglas William JerroldA creature undefiled by the taint of the world, unvexed by its injustice, unwearied by its hollow pleasures; a being fresh from the source of light, with something of its universal lustre in it. If childhood be this, how holy the duty to see that in its onward growth it shall be no other!
Douglas William JerroldO this itch of the ear, that breaks out at the tongue! Were not curiosity so over-busy, detraction would soon be starved to death.
Douglas William Jerrold