Who is to decide which is the grimmer sight: withered hearts, or empty skulls?

The art of motherhood involves much silent, unobtrusive self-denial, an hourly devotion which finds no detail too minute.

Our worst misfortunes never happen, and most miseries lie in anticipation.

Girls are apt to imagine noble and enchanting and totally imaginary figures in their own minds; they have fanciful extravagant ideas about men, and sentiment, and life; and then they innocently endow somebody or other with all the perfections for their daydreams, and put their trust in him.

One can imagine the look the two lovers exchanged; it was like a flame, for virtuous lovers have not a shred of hypocrisy.

Life is simply what out feelings do to us.

The future of a nation lies in the hands of mothers.