Every father knows at once too much and too little about his own son.
Hoary-headed old Winter, I have had enough of you!
How strong sometimes is weakness!
Too much indulgence has ruined thousands of children; too much love not one.
No crust so tough as the grudged bread of dependence.
I dare say you will try to make me believe that Editors are human. Now I deny that, for I myself have, in past days, had evidence to the contrary.