The hand of benevolence is everywhere stretched out, searching into abuses, righting — Harriet Beecher Stowe
There is no phase of the Italian mind that has not found expression in its music. — Harriet Beecher Stowe
God has always been to me not so much like a father as like a dear and tender mother. — Harriet Beecher Stowe
So subtle is the atmosphere of opinion that it will make itself felt without words. — Harriet Beecher Stowe
The Lord gives good many things twice over; but he don’t give ye a mother but once. — Harriet Beecher Stowe