Home is a place not only of strong affections, but of entire unreserve; it is life’s undress rehearsal, its backroom, its dressing room.
HARRIET BEECHER STOWEHome is a place not only of strong affections, but of entire unreserve; it is life’s undress rehearsal, its backroom, its dressing room.
HARRIET BEECHER STOWEFriendships are discovered rather than made.
HARRIET BEECHER STOWEWhat makes saintliness in my view, as distinguished from ordinary goodness, is a certain quality of magnanimity and greatness of soul that brings life within the circle of the heroic.
HARRIET BEECHER STOWEGeneral rules will bear hard on particular cases.
HARRIET BEECHER STOWEO, ye who visit the distressed, do ye know that everything your money can buy, given with a cold, averted face, is not worth one honest tear shed in real sympathy?
HARRIET BEECHER STOWEAny mind that is capable of real sorrow is capable of good.
HARRIET BEECHER STOWEFanaticism is governed by imagination rather than judgment.
HARRIET BEECHER STOWEIntemperance in eating is one of the most fruitful of all causes of disease and death.
HARRIET BEECHER STOWEThere are in this world two kinds of natures, – those that have wings, and those that have feet, – the winged and the walking spirits. The walking are the logicians; the winged are the instinctive and poetic.
HARRIET BEECHER STOWEO, with what freshness, what solemnity and beauty, is each new day born; as if to say to insensate man, “Behold! thou hast one more chance! Strive for immortal glory!
HARRIET BEECHER STOWEthere is no independence and pertinacity of opinion like that of these seemingly soft, quiet creatures, whom it is so easy to silence, and so difficult to convince.
HARRIET BEECHER STOWEThere are griefs which grow with years.
HARRIET BEECHER STOWEAll men are free and equal in the grave, if it comes to that.
HARRIET BEECHER STOWEScenes of blood and cruelty are shocking to our ear and heart. What man has nerve to do, man has not nerve to hear.
HARRIET BEECHER STOWEMy vocation to preach on paper.
HARRIET BEECHER STOWEThe heart has no tears to give,–it drops only blood, bleeding itself away in silence.
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE