Quote

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.

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
Read
Cheek
Stills
Pursuing
Still
Cheeks
Ever
Wedding
Heart
Pale
Never
Cease
Lovelorn
Life
Sorrow
Wooing
Wrong
Hue

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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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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 smaller your reality, the more convinced you are that you know everything.
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What millions died that Caesar might be great!
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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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For Beauty's tears are lovelier than her smile.
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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 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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What though my winged hours of bliss have been, Like angel visits, few and far between.
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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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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 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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O star-eyed Science, hast thou wander'd there, To waft us home the message of despair?
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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 patriot's blood is the seed of Freedom's tree.
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One moment may with bliss repay Unnumbered hours of pain.
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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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Tomorrow let us do or die!
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