I think I am quite wicked with roses. I like to gather them, and smell them till they have no scent left.

There's many a good bit o' work done with a sad heart.

And certainly, the mistakes that we male and female mortals make when we have our own way might fairly raise some wonder that we are so fond of it.

Power of generalizing gives men so much the superiority in mistake over the dumb animals.

With memory set smarting like a reopened wound, a man's past is not simply a dead history, an outworn preparation of the present: it is not a repented error shaken loose from the life: it is a still quivering part of himself, bringing shudders and bitter flavors and the tinglings of a merited shame.

Children demand that their heroes should be freckle less, and easily believe them so: perhaps a first discovery to the contrary is less revolutionary shock to a passionate child than the threatened downfall of habitual beliefs which makes the world seem to totter for us in maturer life.

We long for an affection altogether ignorant of our faults. Heaven has accorded this to us in the uncritical canine attachment.