Sermons

Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter, Sermons and soda water the day after.

The pastor's sermons may bore you, but they are morally edifying.

Is this "giving sermons" or "sticking one's nose in someone else's business"?

The very recollection of Caleb's beverage has done more to suppress my longing to open the day with a morning draught than twenty sermons would have done.

There are relics of the age before circulating libraries, there are fragments of the lettered store of some scholarly great-grandfather, and these, with a few odd numbers of magazines, a few primers and manuals, some sermons and novels, make up the ordinary library of an English household.

Those who don't want to end up in heaven don't need sermons.

The sermons often lasted three or four hours.

What, to the American slave, is your 4th of July? I answer; a day that reveals to him, more than all other days in the year, the gross injustice and cruelty to which he is the constant victim. To him, your celebration is a sham; your boasted liberty, an unholy license; your national greatness, swelling vanity; your sounds of rejoicing are empty and heartless; your denunciation of tyrants, brass fronted impudence; your shouts of liberty and equality, hollow mockery; your prayers and hymns, your sermons and thanksgivings, with all your religious parade and solemnity, are, to Him, mere bombast, fraud, deception, impiety, and hypocrisy — a thin veil to cover up crimes which would disgrace a nation of savages. There is not a nation on the earth guilty of practices more shocking and bloody than are the people of the United States, at this very hour.