Women are the fulfilled sex. Through our children we are able to produce our own immortality, so we lack that divine restlessness which sends men charging off in pursuit of fortune or fame or an imagined Utopia. That is why we number so few geniuses among us. The wholesome oyster wears no pearl, the healthy whale no ambergris, and as long as we can keep on adding to the race, we harbor a sort of health within ourselves.

Sin has always been an ugly word, but it has been made so in a new sense over the last half-century. It has been made not only ugly but pass?. People are no longer sinful, they are only immature or underprivileged or frightened or, more particularly, sick.

Of the small gifts of heaven, / It seems to me a more than equal share / At birth was given / To girls with curly hair.

There is satisfaction in seeing one's household prosper; in being both bountiful and provident.

Sons do not need you. They are always out of your reach, Walking strange waters.

Say what you will, making marriage work is a woman's business. The institution was invented to do her homage; it was contrived for her protection. Unless she accepts it as such --as a beautiful, bountiful, but quite unequal association --the going will be hard indeed.

Scratch any father, you find / Someone chock-full of qualms and romantic terrors, / Believing change is a threat.