A time will come when you will find that in gaining a brief joy you have lost your peace forever.

…for no matter how lost and soiled and worn-out wandering sons may be, mothers can forgive and forget every thing as they fold them into their fostering arms. Happy the son whose faith in his mother remains unchanged, and who, through all his wanderings, has kept some filial token to repay her brave and tender love.

Self-pity in its early stages is as snug as a feather mattress. Only when it hardens does it become uncomfortable.

Work is always my salvation and I will celebrate it.

She preferred imaginary heroes to real ones, because when tired of them, the former could be shut up in the tin kitchen till called for, and the latter were less manageable.

It takes two flints to make a fire.

…in silence learned the sweet solace which affection administers to sorrow.