Henry Ward Beecher Quotes
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A mother has, perhaps, the hardest earthly lot; and yet no mother worthy of the name ever gave herself thoroughly for her child who did not feel that, after all, she reaped what she had sown.
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Home should be the center of joy, equatorial and tropical.
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What profusion is there in His work! When trees blossom there is not a single breastpin, but a whole bosom full of gems; and of leaves they have so many suits that they can throw them away to the winds all summer long. What unnumbered cathedrals has He reared in the forest shades, vast and grand, full of curious carvings, and haunted evermore by tremulous music; and in the heavens above, how do stars seem to have flown out of His hand faster than sparks out of a mighty forge!
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All things in the natural world symbolize God, yet none of them speak of him but in broken and imperfect words. High above all he sits, sublimer than mountains, grander than storms, sweeter than blossoms and tender fruits, nobler than lords, truer than parents, more loving than lovers. His feet tread the lowest places of the earth; but his head is above all glory, and everywhere he is supreme.
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Some people are so dry that you might soak them in a joke for a month and it would not get through their skins.
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It is the very wantonness of folly for a man to search out the frets and burdens of his calling and give his mind every day to a consideration of them. They belong to human life. They are inevitable. Brooding only gives them strength.
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Of all man's works of art, a cathedral is greatest. A vast and majestic tree is greater than that.
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What if the leaves were to fall a-weeping, and say, "It will be so painful for us to be pulled from our stalks, when autumn comes?" Foolish fear! Summer goes, and autumn succeeds. The glory of death is upon the leaves; and the gentlest breeze that blows takes them softly and silently from the bough, and they float slowly down, like fiery sparks, upon the moss.
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Your greatest pleasure is that which rebounds from hearts that you have made glad.
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Walking humbly, you are more of a man than you were when you walked proudly.
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It is not work that kills men; it is worry. Worry is rust upon the blade.
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We cannot have right virtue without right conditions.
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God is like us to this extent, that whatever in us is good is like God.
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There are more quarrels smothered by just shutting your mouth, and holding it shut, than by all the wisdom in the world.
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The first hour of the morning is the rudder of the day.
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Men do not avail themselves of the riches of God's grace. They love to nurse their cares, and seem as uneasy without some fret as an old friar would be without his hair girdle. They are commanded to cast their cares upon the Lord, but even when they attempt it, they do not fail to catch them up again, and think it meritorious to walk burdened.
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There is nothing which vanity does not desecrate.
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They hover as a cloud of witnesses above this Nation.
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It is the end of art to inoculate men with the love of nature.
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Nature holds an immense uncollected debt over every man's head.
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God makes the life fertile by disappointments, as he makes the ground fertile by frosts.
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That is the best baptism that leaves the man cleanest inside.
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As the cream abandons the milk from which it took its life, and rises to the top and rides there, so men, because they are richer than those around about them, separate themselves, and all mankind below them they regard as skim milk.
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Now, men think, with regard to their conduct, that, if they were to lift themselves up gigantically and commit some crashing sin, they should never be able to hold up their heads; but they will harbor in their souls little sins, which are piercing and eating them away to inevitable ruin.