Never does one feel oneself so utterly helpless as in trying to speak comfort for great bereavement.

Not a hundredth part of the thoughts in my head have ever been or ever will be spoken or written — as long as I keep my senses, at least.

The only thing that makes one place more attractive to me than another is the quantity of heart I find in it.

On earth the living have much to bear; the difference is chiefly in the manner of bearing, and my manner of bearing is far from being the best.

The surest way to get a thing in this life is to be prepared for doing without it, to the exclusion even of hope.

The longer one lives in this hard world motherless, the more a mother's loss makes itself felt.

Time is the only comforter for the loss of a mother.