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Hurry, drive and bustle ... Everybody looking out for number one, and caring little who jostled past, if their rights were not infringed.

Fanny Fern

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Fanny Fern
Age: 61 †
Born: 1811
Born: July 9
Died: 1872
Died: October 10
Columnist
Essayist
Journalist
Novelist
Writer
Portland
Maine
Sara Payson Willis Parton
Sara Payson Willis
Everybody
Rights
Infringed
Looking
Bustle
Past
Hurry
Littles
Caring
Little
Drive
Number
Numbers

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Advice is like a doctor's pills how easily he gives them! how reluctantly he takes them when his turn comes!
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Experience is an excellent doctor, though he never had a diploma.
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adversity is so rough a teacher!
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The term 'lady' has been so misused, that I like better the old-fashioned term, woman.
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No crust so tough as the grudged bread of dependence.
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One person is as good as another in New England, and better, too.
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The cream of enjoyment in this life is always impromptu. The chance walk the unexpected visit the unpremeditated journey the unsought conversation or acquaintance.
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I hate the word proper. If you tell me a thing is not proper, I immediately feel the most rabid desire to go 'neck and heels' into it.
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I am convinced that there are times in everybody's experience when there is so much to be done, that the only way to do it is to sit down and do nothing.
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they who are not fastidious as to the means, seldom fail of securing the result they aim at.
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There are no little things. Little things, so called, are the hinges of the universe.
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Oh! to be a child again. My only treasures, bits of shell and stone and glass. To love nothing but maple sugar. To fear nothing but a big dog. To go to sleep without dreading the morrow. To wake up with a shout. Not to have seen a dead face. Not to dread a living one. To be able to believe.
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Why will parents use that expression? What right have you to have a favorite child?
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Every father knows at once too much and too little about his own son.
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I am getting sick of people. I am falling in love with things. They hold their tongues.
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Hoary-headed old Winter, I have had enough of you!
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A little oil makes machinery work easy.
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Everything in the country, animate and inanimate, seems to whisper, be serene, be kind, be happy. We grow tolerant there unconsciously.
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Blessed be sleep! We are all young then we are all happy. Then our dead are living.
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Why don't men ... leave off those detestable stiff collars, stocks, and things, that make them all look like choked chickens, and which hide so many handsomely-turned throats, that a body never sees, unless a body is married, or unless a body happens to see a body's brothers while they are shaving.
Fanny Fern