Love is very beautiful, but very, very sad.

A man builds a house in England with the expectation of living in it and leaving it to his children; while we shed our houses in America as easily as a snail does his shell. We live a while in Boston, and then a while in New York, and then, perhaps, turn up at Cincinnati. Scarcely any body with us is living where they expect to live and die. The man that dies in the house he was born in is a wonder. There is something pleasant in the permanence and repose of the English family estate, which we, in America, know very little of.

So subtle is the atmosphere of opinion that it will make itself felt without words.

Great as the planning were for the dinner, the lot was so contrived that not a soul in the house be supposed to be kept from the break of day ceremony of Blessing in the church.

Most mothers are instinctive philosophers.

God has always been to me not so much like a father as like a dear and tender mother.

The truth is the kindest thing we can give folks in the end.