“The heart has no tears to give,–it drops only blood, bleeding itself away in silence.”

Why don’t somebody wake up to the beauty of old women?

There are two classes of human beings in this world: one class seem made to give love, and the other to take it.

People will accept your ideas much more readily if you tell them that Benjamin Franklin said it first. Perhaps it is impossible for a person who does no good to do no harm.

So much has been said and sung of beautiful young girls, why doesn’t somebody wake up to the beauty of old women.

O, what an untold world there is in one human heart!

Witness, eternal God! Oh, witness that, from this hour, I will do what one man can to drive out this curse of slavery from my land!

There are griefs which grow with years.

I am one of the sort that lives by throwing stones at other people’s glass houses, but I never mean to put up one for them to stone.

Talk of the abuses of slavery! Humbug! The thing itself is the essence of all abuse!

It lies around us like a cloud- A world we do not see; Yet the sweet closing of an eye May bring us there to be.

The Negro is an exotic of the most gorgeous and superb countries of the world, and he has deep in his heart a passion for all that is splendid, rich and fanciful.

Scenes of blood and cruelty are shocking to our ear and heart. What man has nerve to do, man has not nerve to hear.

Self respect is impossible without liberty.

Many a humble soul will be amazed to find that the seed it sowed in weakness, in the dust of daily life, has blossomed into immortal flowers under the eye of the Lord.

Home is a place not only of strong affections, but of entire unreserve; it is life’s undress rehearsal, its backroom, its dressing room.

The person who decides what shall be the food and drink of a family, and the modes of its preparation, is the one who decides, to a greater or less extent, what shall be the health of that family.

Do you love your idea? Does it feel right on instinct? Are you willing to bleed for it?

Misery doesn’t love just any company it desires the kind presence only loneliness feeds but that’s not love at all. – love doesn’t eat it bleeds.

I woke up with the warrior in my blood.

It’s in my genes. My mother was an opera singer. I’m clearly dramatic.

Negro blood is sure powerful, because just one drop of black blood makes a colored man. One drop–you are a Negro! . . . Black is powerful.

I am quite certain that the crimes of this guilty land will never be purged away but with blood. I had, as I now think vainly, flattered myself that without very much bloodshed it might be done.

Just as it demands blood, to meet bone, It’ll forever take something painful to understand pain.

Whose hearts must I break? What lies must I maintain? – Through whose blood am I to wade ?