Wait," I said as Noah slipped a book from a shelf and headed toward the door. "Where are you going?" "To read?" But I don't want you to. "But I need to go home," I said, my eyes meeting his. "My parents are going to kill me." "Taken care of. You're at Sophie's house." I loved Sophie. "So I'm...staying here?" "Daniel's covering for you." I loved Daniel. "Where's Katie?" I asked, trying to sound casual. "Eliza's house." I loved Eliza. "And your parents?" I asked. "Some charity thing." I loved charity. "So why are you going to read when I'm right here?
Behold I do not give lectures or a little charity, When I give I give myself.
The home of a clergyman is constantly judged by its parishioners. If it is too large and richly decorated, it is the subject of jealousy. If it is too small and humble, it is the subject of scorn. If it is too clean and orderly, it is considered a museum where charity is untouched and kept in a box. If it is slovenly, it is the subject of disgust.
A bone to the dog is not charity. Charity is the bone shared with the dog, when you are just as hungry as the dog.
The charity that hastens to proclaim its good deeds, ceases to be charity, and is only pride and ostentation.
Too many have dispensed with generosity in order to practice charity.
One of the serious obstacles to the improvement of our race is indiscriminate charity.
Love is not patronizing and charity isn't about pity, it is about love. Charity and love are the same -- with charity you give love, so don't just give money but reach out your hand instead.