There is in every true woman’s heart a spark of heavenly fire, which lies dormant in the broad daylight of prosperity; but which kindles up, and beams and blazes in the dark hour of adversity.
The beauty of the world has two edges, one of laughter, one of anguish, cutting the heart asunder.
Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain…. [A]ccept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields….
May your pockets be heavy and your heart be light,
May good luck pursue you each morning and night.
O, the red rose may be fair,
And the lily statelier;
But my shamrock, one in three
Takes the very heart of me!
When Irish eyes are smiling, sure ‘tis like a morn in spring.
In the lilt of Irish laughter you can hear the angels sing,
When Irish hearts are happy all the world seems bright and gay,
And when Irish eyes are smiling, sure, they steal your heart away.
Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depth of your heart; confess to yourself you would have to die if you were forbidden to write.
Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.
It’s hard to be responsible, adult and sensible all the time. How good it is to have a sister whose heart is as young as your own.
It’s spring fever. That is what the name of it is. And when you’ve got it, you want — oh, you don’t quite know what it is you do want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so!