Praise is sunshine; it warms, it inspires, it promotes growth; blame and rebuke are rain and hail; they beat down and bedraggle, even though they may at times be necessary.
HARRIET BEECHER STOWEEyes that have never wept cannot comprehend sorrow.
More Harriet Beecher Stowe Quotes
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There is more done with pens than with swords.
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE -
Treat ’em like dogs, and you’ll have dogs’ works and dogs’ actions. Treat ’em like men, and you’ll have men’s works.
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE -
To do common things perfectly is far better worth our endeavor than to do uncommon things respectably.
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE -
If I am to write, I must have a room to myself, which shall be my room.
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE -
Of 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.
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE -
Common sense is seeing things as they are; and doing things as they ought to be.
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE -
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.
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE -
One part of the science of living is to learn just what our own responsibility is, and to let other people’s alone.
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE -
If you destroy delicacy and a sense of shame in a young girl, you deprave her very fast.
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE -
Any mind that is capable of real sorrow is capable of good.
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In the gates of eternity the black hand and the white hand hold each other with equal clasp.
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE -
Fanaticism is governed by imagination rather than judgment.
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE -
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.
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE -
Your little child is the only true democrat.
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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.
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE