If all literary women had such thoughtful angels for husbands, they would live longer and write more. Perhaps that wouldn't be such a blessing to the world though, as most of us write too much now,' s...
Each of you told what your burden was just now, except Beth. I rather think she hasn't got any, said her mother. Yes, I have. Mine is dishes and dusters, and envying girls with nice pianos, and being...
Mrs. Jo did not mean the measles, but that more serious malady called love, which is apt to ravage communities, spring and autumn, when winter gayety and summer idleness produce whole bouquets of enga...
…the child's heart bled when it was broken.
If life is often so hard as this, I don't see how we ever shall get through it…
It takes so little to make a child happy, that it is a pity in a world full of sunshine and pleasant things, that there should be any wistful faces, empty hands, or lonely little hearts.
…no person, no matter how vivid an imagination he may have, can invent anything half so droll as the freaks and fancies that originate in the lively brains of little people.
Love covers a multitude of sins…
…she rejoiced as only mothers can in the good fortunes of their children.
…wisely mingled poetry and prose.
…possessed of that indescribable charm called grace.
Don't try to make me grow up before my time...
…the violin — that most human of all instruments…
…young minds cannot be driven…
…we're twins, and so we love each other more than other people…
…on some occasions, women, like dreams, go by contraries.
…the day had been both unprofitable and unsatisfactory, and he was wishing he could live it over again.
…nothing remained but loneliness and grief…
…men never forgive like women.
Well, I am happy, and I won't fret, but it does seem as if the more one gets the more one wants…