Dinah Maria Mulock Craik Quotes

They were neither of them in a high sphere of life. Rhoda was a farmer’s daughter, the only one among a troop of great rough brothers, some younger, some older than herself. She was not more than twelve years of age, and yet she had been for a year the little mistress of the family, for her mother had long been dead.

I watched too, with that sort of lonely delight — the one shadow upon it being that it is so lonely — with which all one's life one is accustomed to watch beautiful and vanishing things.

Manhood had come to him, both in character and demeanour, not as it comes to most young lads, an eagerly-desired and presumptuously-asserted claim, but as a rightful inheritance, to be received humbly, and worn simply and naturally.

and we will have such a splendid row on grandfather’s big pond. How nice it will be!” Annie kissed the child, who was her favourite among them all, for he seemed to love her best, and had called her “sister Annie” from the first; but still she said firmly, “We will have a beautiful row when spring comes, Willie; but on Thursday I had much rather stay at home with Rhoda!

Oh, the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person, having neither to weigh thoughts not measured words, but pouring them right out, just as they are.

Oh, the comfort — the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person — having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all right out, just as they are, chaff and grain together; certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and then with the breath of kindness blow the rest away.

Oh! my dear children, if you did but know how the heart instinctively turns from a sullen countenance — how hateful is that expression which some like to put on when they are ever so slightly offended, thinking it a point of honour not to smile or speak, but to look sulky for hours — how such a look changes the warmest love of parent, or sister, or friend, into dislike!

I have seen many a face that was more good-looking — never one that looked half so good.

A preface is usually an excrescence on a good book, and a vain apology for a worthless one;