We are always too busy for our children; we never give them the time or interest they deserve. We lavish gifts upon them; but the most precious gift, our personal association, which means so much to them, we give grudgingly.
What a man sows, that shall he and his relations reap.
When a father gives to his son, both laugh; when a son gives to his father, both cry.
When I do something in my family because I really enjoy it, then my duty has become my pleasure. And it is a pleasure for all the people around me.
When our relatives are at home, we have to think of all their good points or it would be impossible to endure them. But when they are away, we console ourselves for their absence by dwelling on their vices.
Where can a person be better than in the bosom of their family.
With a new familiarity and a flesh-creeping ''homeliness'' entirely of this unreal, materialistic world, where all ''sentiment'' is coarsely manufactured and advertised in colossal sickly captions, disguised for the sweet tooth of a monstrous baby called ''the Public,'' the family as it is, broken up on all hands by the agency of feminist and economic propaganda, reconstitutes itself in the image of the state.
Women know what men have long forgotten. The ultimate economic and spiritual unit of any civilization is still the family.
Women's liberationists spread the word that the only peaceful family is one in which either the wife is enslaved or the husband is androgynous.
You hear a lot of dialogue on the death of the American family. Families aren't dying. They're merging into big conglomerates.
You leave home to seek your fortune and, when you get it, you go home and share it with your family.
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