Once in an age God sends to some of us a friend who loves in us, not a false-imagining, an unreal character, but looking through the rubbish of our imperfections, loves in us the divine ideal of our nature,--loves, not the man that we are, but the angel that we may be.
Harriet Beecher StoweMidnight,--strange mystic hour,--when the veil between the frail present and the eternal future grows thin.
Harriet Beecher StoweThe ship, built on one element, but designed to have its life in another, seemed an image of the soul, formed and fashioned with many a weary hammer-stroke in this life, but finding its true element only when it sails out into the ocean of eternity.
Harriet Beecher Stowe