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The prophet's mantle, ere his flight began, Dropt on the world--a sacred gift to man.

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
World
Mantle
Prophecy
Prophet
Flight
Began
Sacred
Gift
Men

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For Beauty's tears are lovelier than her smile.
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What millions died that Caesar might be great!
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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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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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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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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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Tomorrow let us do or die!
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The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone, that never mused on sorrow but its own.
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The smaller your reality, the more convinced you are that you know everything.
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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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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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Where the Scriptures speak, we speak where the Scriptures are silent, we are silent.
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Beauty's witching sway is now to me a star that's fallen-a dream that's passed away.
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He scorn'd his own, who felt another's woe.
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What though my winged hours of bliss have been, Like angel visits, few and far between.
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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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O star-eyed Science, hast thou wander'd there, To waft us home the message of despair?
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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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