He that drinks beer, thinks beer.

The land of literature is a fairy land to those who view it at a distance, but, like all other landscapes, the charm fades on a nearer approach, and the thorns and briars become visible.

There is a remembrance of the dead to which we turn even from the charms of the living.

A mother is the truest friend we have when trials, heavy and sudden, fall upon us; when adversity takes the place of prosperity.

The tie which links mother and child is of such pure and immaculate strength as to be never violated.

The almighty dollar, that great object of universal devotion throughout our land, seems to have no genuine devotees in these peculiar villages.

Too young for woe, though not for tears.