I value this delicious home-feeling as one of the choicest gifts a parent can bestow.

History is but a kind of Newgate calendar, a register of the crimes and miseries that man has inflicted on his fellow-man.

There is a healthful hardiness about real dignity that never dreads contact and communion with others however humble.

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

History fades into fable; fact becomes clouded with doubt and controversy; the inscription molders from the tablet: the statue falls from the pedestal. Columns, arches, pyramids, what are they but heaps of sand; and their epitaphs, but characters written in the dust?

He who thinks much says but little in proportion to his thoughts. He selects that language which will convey his ideas in the most explicit and direct manner.

Villainy wears many masks; none so dangerous as the mask of virtue.