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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.

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
Would
Sin
Begin
Shall
Excepting
Sure
Maid
Wish
Maids
Write
Originals
Writing
Original
Something
Dear

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The only thing that is fundamental (real) is consciousness itself all else is virtual- i.e., a result of an exchange of information within consciousness.
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A stoic of the woods,--a man without a tear.
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Our land, the first garden of liberty's tree-- It has been, and shall be, the land of the free.
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Better be courted and jilted Than never be courted at all.
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Tomorrow let us do or die!
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On the green banks of Shannon, when Sheelah was nigh, No blithe Irish lad was so happy as I, No harp like my own could so cheerily play, And wherever I went was my poor dog Tray.
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The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone, that never mused on sorrow but its own.
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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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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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The patriot's blood is the seed of Freedom's tree.
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For Beauty's tears are lovelier than her smile.
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He scorn'd his own, who felt another's woe.
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Ye mariners of England! That guard our native seas Whose flag has braved a thousand years, The battle and the breeze!
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The prophet's mantle, ere his flight began, Dropt on the world--a sacred gift to man.
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The meteor flag of England Shall yet terrific burn, Till danger's troubled night depart, And the star of peace return.
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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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One moment may with bliss repay Unnumbered hours of pain.
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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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I'll meet the raging of the skies, but not an angry father.
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Never wedding, ever wooing, Still a lovelorn heart pursuing, Read you not the wrong you're doing In my cheek's pale hue? All my life with sorrow strewing Wed or cease to woo.
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