There's Nothing Like Active Employment, I Suppose,

The Bud, Though Plucked, Would Not Be Withered, Only Transplanted To A Fitter Soil To Ripen And Blow Beneath A Brighter Sun; And Though I Might Not Cherish And Watch My Child's Unfolding Intellect, He Would Be Snatched Away From All The Suffering And Sins Of Earth; And My Understanding Tells Me This Would Be No Great Evil; But My Heart Shrinks From The Contemplation Of Such A Possibility, And Whispers I Could Not Bear To See Him Die.

All True Histories Contain Instruction; Though, In Some, The Treasure May Be Hard To Find, And When Found, So Trivial In Quantity, That The Dry, Shriveled Kernel Scarcely Compensates For The Trouble Of Cracking The Nut.

A Girl's Affections Should Never Be Won Unsought.

I Cannot Get Him To Write Or Speak In Real, Solid Earnest. I Don't Much Mind It Now, But If It Be Always So, What Shall I Do With The Serious Part Of Myself?

To Wheedle And Coax Is Safer Than To Command.