Relationships and Family

From this day you must be a stranger to one of your parents.—Your mother will never see you again if you do not marry Mr Collins, and I will never see you again if you do.

From this day you must be a stranger to one of your parents.—Your mother will never see you again if you do not marry Mr Collins, and I will never see you again if you do.

May I ask whether these pleasing attentions proceed from the impulse of the moment, or are the result of previous study?

But who can live for long

Lay your sleeping head, my love,

He was my North, my South, my East and West,

I’ll love you, dear, I’ll love you

Nobody dies from lack of sex. It’s lack of love we die from.

Come, dear children, let us away;

Ah, love, let us be true To one another!

Children’s talent to endure stems from their ignorance of alternatives.

On bisexuality: It immediately doubles your chances for a date on Saturday night.

A fast word about oral contraception. I asked a girl to go to bed with me and she said ‘no’.

There is no school equal to a decent home and no teacher equal to a virtuous parent.

The moment there is suspicion about a person’s motives, everything he does becomes tainted.

Love never claims, it ever gives. Love ever suffers, never resents, never revenges itself.

If we are to teach real peace in this world, and if we are to carry on a real war against war, we shall have to begin with the children.

Bobby Shaftoe’s gone to sea, Silver buckles on his knee; He’ll come back and marry me, Pretty Bobby Shaftoe.

Ten little Indians standing in a line— One went home, and then there were nine.

Little Polly Flinders Sat among the cinders, Warming her pretty little toes. Her mother came and caught her, And whipped her little daughter For spoiling her nice new clothes.

There was an old woman who lived in a shoe, She had so many children she didn’t know what to do; She gave them some broth without any bread, She whipped them all soundly and put them to bed.

Bye baby bunting, Daddy’s gone a-hunting. Gone to get a rabbit skin To wrap the baby bunting in.

Little Tom Tucker Sings for his supper; What shall he eat? White bread and butter. How will he cut it Without e’er a knife? How will he be married Without e’er a wife?

Little boy blue, come blow your horn, The sheep’s in the meadow, the cow’s in the corn; But where is the boy who looks after the sheep? He’s under the haystack fast asleep. Will you wake him? No, not I, For if I do, he’ll be sure to cry.