Too young for woe, though not for tears.

The love of a mother is never exhausted. It never changes - it never tires - it endures through all; in good repute, in bad repute. In the face of the world's condemnation, a mother's love still lives on.

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

By a kind of fashionable discipline, the eye is taught to brighten, the lip to smile, and the whole countenance to emanate with the semblance of friendly welcome, while the bosom is unwarmed by a single spark of genuine kindness and good-will.

Nothing impresses the mind with a deeper feeling of loneliness than to tread the silent and deserted scene of former throng and pageant.

There is an enduring tenderness in the love of a mother to a son that trancends all other affections of the heart

A kind heart is a fountain of gladness, making everything in its vicinity freshen into smiles.