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Quotes by Clara Barton

Clara Barton

“The surest test of discipline is its absence.”

Their example was sufficient for the entire school. I have seen no finer type of boys. They were faithful to me in their boyhood, and in their manhood faithful to their country. Their blood crimsoned its hardest fields, and the little bright-eyed girl with the good resolve, has made her whole life a blessing to others, and still lives to follow the teaching given her. Little Emily has “made nobody feel bad.” My school was continued beyond the customary length of time, and its only hard feature was our parting. In memory I see that pitiful group of children sobbing their way down the hill after the last good-bye was said, and I was little better. We had all been children together, and when, in accordance with the then custom at town meetings, the grades of the schools were named and No. 9 stood first for discipline, I thought it the greatest injustice, and remonstrated, affirming that there had been no discipline, that not one scholar had ever been disciplined. Child that I was, I did not know that the surest test of discipline is its absence. If the published school report, so misunderstood by me, had given me displeasure, it had also given me a local reputation, quite as unexpected. I soon found myself the recipient of numerous invitations to teach in the nearby towns, especially such schools as required the “discipline” so largely accredited to, and so little deserved, by me. Declination, on my part, was not to be thought of. All members of the family were only too grateful for the progress I had made towards proper self-assurance to permit any backsliding, and it was early settled that I accept the application of the honorable committee, to teach the next summer school at what was known as the “Mill-ward” in the adjoining town of Charlton, commencing on the first Monday in May of the following year—a “master” teaching the winter term. One day, early in September, my brother David, now one of the active, popular business men of the town, nearly took my breath away by inviting me to accompany him on a journey to the state of Maine, to be present at his wedding and with him bring back the wife who was to grace his home and share his future life.

“An institution or reform movement that is not selfish, must originate in the recognition of some evil that is adding to the sum of human suffering, or diminishing the sum of happiness.”

If a morning paper should announce that three or four of the greatest political bosses or greatest railroad kings in the country had quietly met somewhere, and sat with closed doors till long after midnight, and then silently departed, people would ask, "What is the significance of that? What mischief have they been devising in secret?" In that sense of the word, _significance_--which is a very common one--the Red Cross has none that I ever heard of. It has no rich offices to bestow, no favorites to reward, no enemies to punish. It has no secrets to keep, no mystic word or sign. Its proceedings would, and do, make a valuable library, accessible to all men and all women from Norway to New Zealand. I will not say that it is so simple and common in character that he who runs may read, but surely she who desires information can sit down, read and obtain it. The Red Cross has been quietly doing its work for thirty years and is now established in forty independent nations. No other institution on earth, not even Christianity, has a public recognition so nearly universal. None has ever adhered more closely to its one single purpose of alleviating human suffering. Has that any significance or any connection with philanthropy? Let us see. An institution or reform movement that is not selfish, must originate in the recognition of some evil that is adding to the sum of human suffering, or diminishing the sum of happiness. I suppose it is a philanthropic movement to try to reverse the process. Christianity, temperance and sanitary regulations in general are examples. Great evils die hard; and all that has yet been done is to keep them within as narrow limits as possible. Of these great evils, war is one. War is in its very nature cruel--the very embodiment of cruelty in its effects--not necessarily in the hearts of the combatants. Baron Macaulay thought it not a mitigation but an aggravation of the evil, that men of tender culture and humane feelings, with no ill will, should stand up and kill each other. But men do not go to war to save life. They might save life by keeping the peace and staying at home. They go solely with intent to inflict so much pain, loss and disaster on the enemy that he will yield to their terms. All their powers to hurt are focused upon him. In a moving army the elements of destruction, armed men and munitions of war, have the right of way; and the means of preserving and sustaining even their own lives are left to bring up the rear as they best can.

“I have an almost complete disregard of precedent, and a faith in the possibility of something better. It irritates me to be told how things have always been done. I defy the tyranny of precedent. I go for anything new that might improve the past.”

“I may be compelled to face danger, but never fear it, and while our soldiers can stand and fight, I can stand and feed and nurse them.”

“Apprehension, uncertainty, waiting, expectation, fear of surprise, do a patient more harm than any exertion”

“The door that nobody else will go in at, seems always to swing open widely for me.”

“I think ones feelings waste themselves in words; they ought all to be distilled into actions which bring results.”

“What the horrors of war are, no one can imagine. They are not wounds and blood and fever, spotted and low, or dysentery, chronic and acute, cold and heat and famine. They are intoxication, drunken brutality, demoralization and disorder on the part of the inferior... jealousies, meanness, indifference, selfish brutality on the part of the superior.”

“I may sometimes be willing to teach for nothing, but if paid at all, I shall never do a mans work for less than a mans pay.”

“This conflict is one thing Ive been waiting for. Im well and strong and young - young enough to go to the front. If I cant be a soldier, Ill help soldiers.”

“What could I do but go with them [Civil War soldiers], or work for them and my country? The patriot blood of my father was warm in my veins.”

“Others are writing my biography, and let it rest as they elect to make it. I have lived my life, well and ill, always less well than I wanted it to be but it is, as it is, and as it has been; so small a thing, to have had so much about it!”

“Economy, prudence, and a simple life are the sure masters of need, and will often accomplish that which, their opposites, with a fortune at hand, will fail to do.”

“Currently in editing.”

I may be compelled to face danger but never fear it and while our soldiers can stand and fight I can stand and feed and nurse them.

I have an almost complete disregard of precedent and a faith in the possibility of something better. It irritates me to be told how things always have been done. ... I defy the tyranny of precedent. I cannot afford the luxury of a closed mind. I go for anything new that might improve the past.

An institution or reform movement that is not selfish must originate in the recognition of some evil that is adding to the sum of human suffering or diminishing the sum of happiness. I suppose it is a philanthropic movement to try to reverse the process.

The door that nobody else will go in at seems always to swing open widely for me.

Everybodys business is nobodys business and nobodys business is my business.

Economy prudence and a simple life are the sure masters of need and will often accomplish that which their opposites with a fortune at hand will fail to do.

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