There is no liberty to men who know not how to govern themselves.
HENRY WARD BEECHEREvery artist dips his brush in his own soul, and paints his own nature into his pictures.
More Henry Ward Beecher Quotes
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Of all the music that reached farthest into heaven, it is the beating of a loving heart.
HENRY WARD BEECHER -
It is defeat that turns bone to flint; it is defeat that turns gristle to muscle; it is defeat that makes men invincible. Do not then be afraid of defeat. You are never so near to victory as when defeated in a good cause.
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Compassion will cure more sins than condemnation.
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Our government is built upon the vote. But votes that are purchasable are quicksands, and a government built on them stands upon corruption and revolution.
HENRY WARD BEECHER -
Are they dead that yet speak louder than we can speak, and a more universal language? Are they dead that yet act? Are they dead that yet move upon society and inspire the people with nobler motives and more heroic patriotism?
HENRY WARD BEECHER -
In the early ages men ruled by strength; now they rule by brain, and so long as there is only one man in the world who can think and plan, he will stand head and shoulders above him who cannot.
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No coffee can be good in the mouth that does not first send a sweet offering of odor to the nostrils.
HENRY WARD BEECHER -
Laws and institutions, like clocks, must occasionally be cleaned, wound up, and set to true time.
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Pride slays thanksgiving, but a humble mind is the soil out of which thanks naturally grow. A proud man is seldom a grateful man, for he never thinks he gets as much as he deserves.
HENRY WARD BEECHER -
To array a man’s will against his sickness is the supreme art of medicine.
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Blessed are they who know how to shine on one’s gloom with their cheer.
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We should not judge people by their peak of excellence; but by the distance they have traveled from the point where they started.
HENRY WARD BEECHER -
A conservative young man has wound up his life before it was unreeled. We expect old men to be conservative but when a nation’s young men are so, its funeral bell is already rung.
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Blessed be the man whose work drives him. Something must drive men; and if it is wholesome industry, they have no time for a thousand torments and temptations.
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Home should be an oratorio of the memory, singing to all our after life melodies and harmonies of old-remembered joy.
HENRY WARD BEECHER