Love has its own instinct, finding the way to the heart, as the feeblest insect finds the way to its flower, with a will which nothing can dismay nor turn aside.

The art of motherhood involves much silent, unobtrusive self-denial, an hourly devotion which finds no detail too minute.

There are no little events with the heart. It magnifies everything; it places in the same scales the fall of an empire of fourteen years and the dropping of a woman's glove, and almost always the glove weighs more than the empire.

First love is a kind of vaccination which saves a man from catching the complaint the second time.

Wisdom is that apprehension of heavenly things to which the spirit rises through love.

A young bride is like a plucked flower; but a guilty wife is like a flower that had been walked over.