Oh, the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person; having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but to pour them all ou… - Dinah Maria Mulock Craik

A friend is one to whom one may pour out the contents of one's heart, chaff and grain together, knowing that gentle hands will take and sift it, keep what is worth keeping, and with a breath of kindness, blow the rest away.

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.

What a world it was! Literally swimming in sunshine, from the sparkling sea in the distance, to the beds of marigolds close by — huge marigolds, double and single, mingled with carnations that filled the air with rich autumnal scent, all the more delicious because we feel it is autumnal, and therefore cannot last.

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!

It is one of my decided opinions that married people ought to have no one, be the tie ever so close and dear, living permanently with them, to break the sacred duality — no, let me say the unity of their home.