Rebecca Harding Davis Quotes
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War may be an armed angel with a mission, but she has the personal habits of the slums.
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For, after all, put it as we may to ourselves, we are all of us from birth to death guests at a table which we did not spread. The sun, the earth, love, friends, our very breath are parts of the banquet.... Shall we think of the day as a chance to come nearer to our Host, and to find out something of Him who has fed us so long?
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You were only truly patriotic if you had a laborer for a grandfather and were glad of it.
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Every child was taught from his cradle that money was Mammon, the chief agent of the flesh and the devil.
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It is a good rule never to see or talk to the man whose words have wrung your heart, or helped it, just as it is wise not to look down too closely at the luminous glow which sometimes shines on your path on a summer night, if you would not see the ugly worm below.
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You will find the poet who wrings the heart of the world, or the foremost captain of his time, driving a bargain or paring a potato, just as you would do.
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Our young people have come to look upon war as a kind of beneficent deity, which not only adds to the national honor but uplifts a nation and develops patriotism and courage. That is all true. But it is only fair, too, to let them know that the garments of the deity are filthy and that some of her influences debase and befoul a people.
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I have never seen an adequate description anywhere of the amazement, the uncomprehending horror of the bulk of the American people which preceded the firing of that gun at Sumter. Politicians or far-sighted leaders on both sides knew what was coming. And it is they who have written histories of the war. But to the easy-going millions, busied with their farms or shops, the onrushing disaster was as inexplicable as an earthquake. Their protest arose from sea to sea like the clamor of a gigantic hive of frightened bees.
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The histories which we have of the great tragedy give no idea of the general wretchedness, the squalid misery, which entered into every individual life in the region given up to the war. Where the armies camped the destruction was absolute.
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Nowhere in this country, from sea to sea, does nature comfort us with such assurance of plenty, such rich and tranquil beauty as in those unsung, unpainted hills of Pennsylvania.
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No man surely has so short a memory as the American.
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These great turning-days of life cast no shadow before, slip by unconsciously. Only a trifle, a little turn of the rudder, and the ship goes to heaven or hell.
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It was part of your religion to hate the British.
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The sun, the earth, love, friends, our very breath are parts of the banquet.
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Crime, to the man of the forties, was an alien monstrous terror.
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It has happened to me to meet many of the men of my day whom the world agreed to call great.
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Reform is born of need, not pity. No vital movement of the people has worked down, for good or evil; fermented, instead, carried up the heaving, cloggy mass.
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One sees that dead, vacant look steal over the rarest, finest of women's faces . . . in the very midst, it may be, of their warmest summer's day; and then one can guess at the secret of intolerable solitude that lies hid beneath the delicate laces . . .
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We have grown used to money. The handling, the increase of it, is the chief business of life now with most of us.
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North and South were equally confident that God was on their side, and appealed incessantly to Him.
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America may have great poets and novelists, but she never will have more than one necromancer.
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... while the light burning within may have been divine, the outer case of the lamp was assuredly cheap enough.
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Reform is born of need, not pity.
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But remember, I am no politician, and no seer into souls.