There Is Always A But In This

But He That Dares Not Grasp The Thorn Should Never Crave The Rose.

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?

Preserve Me From Such Cordiality! It Is Like Handling Briar-roses And May-blossoms - Bright Enough To The Eye, And Outwardly Soft To The Touch, But You Know There Are Thorns Beneath, And Every Now And Then You Feel Them Too; And Perhaps Resent The Injury By Crushing Them In Till You Have Destroyed Their Power, Though Somewhat To The Detriment Of Your Own Fingers.

I Was Not Really Angry: I Felt For Him All The Time, And Longed To Be Reconciled; But I Determined He Should Make The First Advances, Or At Least Show Some Signs Of An Humble And Contrite Spirit, First; For, If I Began, It Would Only Minister To His Self-conceit, Increase His Arrogance, And Quite Destroy The Lesson I Wanted To Give Him.

The Best Compliment To A Mother Is To Appreciate Her Little One.