Scenes 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 STOWEOf course, in a novel, people’s hearts break, and they die and that is the end of it; and in a story this is very convenient. But in real life we do not die when all that makes life bright dies to us.
More Harriet Beecher Stowe Quotes
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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!
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The past, the present and the future are really one: they are today.
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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.
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The world has been busy for some centuries in shutting and locking every door through which a woman could step into wealth, except the door of marriage.
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There are griefs which grow with years.
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The heart has no tears to give,–it drops only blood, bleeding itself away in silence.
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We should remember in our dealings with animals that they are a sacred trust to us from our Heavenly Father. They are dumb and cannot speak for themselves.
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Money is a great help everywhere; – can’t have too much, if you get it honestly.
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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.
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So subtle is the atmosphere of opinion that it will make itself felt without words.
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So much has been said and sung of beautiful young girls, why doesn’t somebody wake up to the beauty of old women.
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there 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.
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The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone.
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Let us resolve: First, to attain the grace of silence; second, to deem all fault finding that does no good a sin; third, to practice the grade and virtue of praise.
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True love ennobles and dignifies the material labors of life; and homely services rendered for love’s sake have in them a poetry that is immortal.
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE