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When thou hast truly thanked the Lord for every blessing sent, But little time will then remain for murmur or lament.

Hannah More

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Hannah More
Age: 88 †
Born: 1745
Born: February 2
Died: 1833
Died: September 7
Abolitionist
Essayist
Philanthropist
Playwright
Poet
Tragedy Writer
Writer
Will Chip
Every
Thou
Time
Remain
Gratitude
Blessing
Thanked
Truly
Murmur
Lord
Lament
Littles
Hast
Little
Sent

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We are apt to mistake our vocation by looking out of the way for occasions to exercise great and rare virtues, and by stepping over the ordinary ones that lie directly in the road before us.
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The wretch who digs the mine for bread, or ploughs, that others may be fed, feels less fatigued than that decreed to him who cannot think or read.
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the modes of speech are scarcely more variable than the modes of silence.
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Man can see his reflection in water only when he bends down close to it, and the heart of man, too, must lean down to the heart of his fellow then it will see itself within his heart.
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Anger is a violent act, envy a constant habit - no one can be always angry, but he may be always envious.
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Oh! the joy Of young ideas painted on the mind, In the warm glowing colors fancy spreads On objects not yet known, when all is new, And all is lovely.
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The artful injury, whose venomed dart scarce wounds the hearing, while it stabs the heart.
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Yes, thou art ever present, power divine not circumscribed by time, nor fixed by space, confined to altars, nor to temples bound. In wealth, in want, in freedom, or in chains, in dungeons or on thrones, the faithful find thee.
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That silence is one of the great arts of conversation is allowed by Cicero himself, who says, there is not only an art, but even an eloquence in it
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Repentance is not completed by a single act, it must be incorporated into our mind, till it become a fixed state, arising from a continual sense of our need of it.
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There are only two bad things in this world, sin and bile.
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A slowness to applaud betrays a cold temper or an envious spirit.
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The world does not require so much to be informed as to be reminded.
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Who are those ever multiplying authors that with unparalleled fecundity are overstocking the world with their quick succeeding progeny? They are novel-writers.
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A crown! what is it? It is to bear the miseries of a people! To hear their murmurs, feel their discontents, And sink beneath a load of splendid care!
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Long habit so reconciles us to almost any thing, that the grossest improprieties cease to strike us when they once make a part of the common course of action.
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The secret heart is fair devotion's temple there the saint, even on that living altar, lights the flame of purest sacrifice, which burns unseen, not unaccepted.
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Prayer is not eloquence but earnestness.
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Luxury! more perilous to youth than storms or quicksand, poverty or chains.
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How much it is to be regretted, that the British ladies should ever sit down contented to polish, when they are able to reform to entertain, when they might instruct and to dazzle for an hour, when they are candidates for eternity!
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