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What though my winged hours of bliss have been, Like angel visits, few and far between.

Thomas Campbell

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Thomas Campbell
Age: 66 †
Born: 1777
Born: July 27
Died: 1844
Died: June 15
Journalist
Musicologist
Poet
Writer
Glasgow
Scotland
Like
Winged
Visits
Angelic
Bliss
Angel
Though
Hours

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The combat deepens. On, ye brave, Who rush to glory or the grave! Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave, And charge with all thy chivalry!
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An original something, dear maid, you would wish me to write but how shall I begin? For I'm sure I have not original in me, Excepting Original Sin.
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I'll meet the raging of the skies, but not an angry father.
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Tomorrow let us do or die!
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Love! the surviving gift of Heaven, The choicest sweet of Paradise, In life's else bitter cup distilled.
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For Beauty's tears are lovelier than her smile.
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The patriot's blood is the seed of Freedom's tree.
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Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky When storms prepare to part, I ask not proud Philosophy To teach me what thou art.
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Where the Scriptures speak, we speak where the Scriptures are silent, we are silent.
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Fundamental assumptions in general and scientific assumptions in particular are so hard to overturn because they are based on belief. Beliefs are so hard to overcome because they are irrational and therefore do not yield to logical argument.
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Better be courted and jilted Than never be courted at all.
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One moment may with bliss repay Unnumbered hours of pain.
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O star-eyed Science, hast thou wander'd there, To waft us home the message of despair?
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On Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
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Who hail thee, Man! the pilgrim of the day, spouse of the worm, and brother of the clay.
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What millions died that Caesar might be great!
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The smaller your reality, the more convinced you are that you know everything.
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The popularity of that baby-faced boy, who possessed not even the elements of a good actor, was a hallucination in the public mind, and a disgrace to our theatrical history.
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A stoic of the woods,--a man without a tear.
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The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone, that never mused on sorrow but its own.
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