To her, the name of father was another name for love.
The way to a manโs heart is through his stomach.
I am getting sick of people. I am falling in love with things. They hold their tongues.
Blessed be sleep! We are all young then; we are all happy. Then our dead are living.
There are so many ready to write (poor fools!) for the honor and glory of the thing, and there are so many ready to take advantage of this fact, and withhold from needy talent the moral right to a deserved remuneration.
Why will parents use that expression? What right have you to have a favorite child?