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So we fall asleep in Jesus. We have played long enough at the games of life, and at last we feel the approach of death. We are tired out, and we lay our heads back on the bosom of Christ, and quietly fall asleep.

Henry Ward Beecher

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Henry Ward Beecher
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As the imagination is set to look into the invisible and immaterial, it seems to attract something of their vitality and though it can give nothing to the body to redeem it from years, it can give to the soul that freshness of youth in old age which is even more beautiful than youth in the young.
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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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If a man has come to that point where he is no content that he says I do not want to know any more, or do any more or be any more, he is in a state in which he ought to be changed into a mummy.
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A world without a Sabbath would be like a man without a smile, like summer without flowers, and like a homestead without a garden. It is the most joyous day of the week.
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We are but a point, a single comma, and God is the literature of eternity.
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Memory can glean, but can never renew. It brings us joys faint as is the perfume of the flowers, faded and dried, of the summer that is gone.
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As plants take hold, not for the sake of staying, but only that they may climb higher, so it is with men. By every part of our nature we clasp things above us, one after another, not for the sake of remaining where we take hold, but that we may go higher.
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Flowers . . . have a mysterious and subtle influence upon the feelings, not unlike some strains of music. They relax the tenseness of the mind. They dissolve its rigor.
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A man that puts himself on the ground of moral principle, if the whole world be against him, is mightier than all of them.
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