Good-night, poor children--good-night, dear songs! Look, Frau Barbara! They are rolling themselves up tightly, convulsively, as if it hurt them to burn." "What sort of talk is that ?" replied Barbara, thrusting the charred book deeper into the fire with the tongs.

Then pointing to her own forehead, she continued: "One often feels anxious about you.

High-sounding words, such as we find in the Psalms, are not meant for every-day life and our kitchen.

If you were my own son, you'd often have something to listen to.

People who travel at a steady pace reach their goal soonest." "That's good advice for a journey," replied Georg, holding out his hand to the widow.