A Quote by Henry Ward Beecher

The worst prison is not of stone. It is of a throbbing heart, outraged by an infamous life. — © Henry Ward Beecher
The worst prison is not of stone. It is of a throbbing heart, outraged by an infamous life.
The worst prison would be a closed heart.
PRISON, n. A place of punishments and rewards. The poet assures us that - stone walls do not a prison make.
Sometimes the heart is so heavy that we turn away from it and forget that its throbbing is the wisest message of life, a wordless message that says, "Live, be, move, rejoice -- you are alive!" Without the heart's wise rhythm, we could not exist.
There is no captive in a worse state than the one who is captivated by his worst enemy (Shaytan) and there is no prison which is tighter than the prison of hawa (desire) and there is no bond/fetter more strong than the bond of desire. How, then, will a heart which is captivated, imprisoned and fettered travel unto Allah and the Home of the Hereafter?
The worst of prison life, he thought, was not being able to close his door.
I would like to say prison life at its very best and worst infinitely sucks.
At the violet hour, when the eyes and back Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits Like a taxi throbbing waiting I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives.
The closest thing to hell on earth is prison. It's the worst experience I've ever had in my life. Besides death.
What lies at the heart of every living thing is not a fire, not warm breath, not a 'spark of life.' It is information, words, instructions... If you want to understand life, don't think about vibrant, throbbing gels and oozes, think about information technology.
Where should the scholar live? In solitude, or in society? in the green stillness of the country, where he can hear the heart of Nature beat, or in the dark, gray town where he can hear and feel the throbbing heart of man?
They appear to have become so attached to their outrage that they are even more outraged that they won't be able to be outraged anymore.
The heart is pure theater throbbing in its cage palpably as any nightingale.
We cannot heal the throbbing heart till we discern the wounds within.
I'm outraged that we're building roads, schools, and hospitals in Iraq and Afghanistan, and that we're doing it with borrowed money from China that we're paying interest on. I'm outraged.
Every thing thinks, but according to its complexity. If this is so, then stones also think...and this stone thinks only I stone, I stone, I stone. But perhaps it cannot even say I. It thinks: Stone, stone, stone... God enjoys being All, as this stone enjoys being almost nothing, but since it knows no other way of being, it is pleased with its own way, eternally satisfied with itself.
When I was in prison, I read an article - don't be shocked when I say I was in prison. You're still in prison. That's what America means: prison.
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