Time is the only comforter for the loss of a mother.
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.
all griefs, when there is no bitterness in them, are soothed down by time.
cracked things often hold out as long as whole things; one takes so much better care of them!
the less one does, as I long ago observed, the less one can find time to do.
Instead of boiling up individuals into the species, I would draw a chalk circle round every individuality, and preach to it to keep within that, and preserve and cultivate its identity.