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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 all 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 Stowe
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Interpretation

What this quote means

True friendship sees beyond imperfections and recognizes our potential and ideal self.

This quote by Harriet Beecher Stowe emphasizes the idea that a genuine friend appreciates us for who we truly are at our core, rather than focusing on our flaws. A true friend acknowledges our struggles and imperfections, yet believes in the best version of ourselves, encouraging us to strive towards our higher ideals and potentials.

Themes

FriendshipLoveImperfectionsPotentialSupport

In practice

Example use cases

During a toast at a wedding, one might say this quote to highlight the importance of unconditional love in a relationship.

More from Harriet Beecher Stowe

To be really great in little things, to be truly noble and heroic in the insipid details of everyday life, is a virtue so rare as to be worthy of canonization.
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What's your hurry?" Because now is the only time there ever is to do a thing in," said Miss Ophelia.
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So much has been said and sung of beautiful young girls, why doesn't somebody wake up to the beauty of old women.
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It is generally understood that men don't aspire after the absolute right, but only to do about as well as the rest of the world.
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Death! Strange that there should be such a word, and such a thing, and we ever forget it; that one should be living, warm and beautiful, full of hopes, desires and wants, one day, and the next be gone, utterly gone, and forever!
Harriet Beecher StoweRead
What is it that sometimes speaks in the soul so calmly, so clearly, that its earthly time is short? Is it the secret instinct of decaying nature, or the soul's impulsive throb, as immortality draws on? Be what it may, it rested in the heart of Eva, a calm, sweet, prophetic certainty that Heaven was near; calm as the light of sunset, sweet as the bright stillness of autumn, there her little heart reposed, only troubled by sorrow for those who loved her so dearly.
Harriet Beecher StoweRead

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