Quote

Though the last glimpse of Erin with sorrow I see, Yet wherever thou art shall seem Erin to me In exile thy bosom shall still be my home, And thine eyes make my climate wherever we roam.

Thomas Moore

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Thomas Moore
Born: 1779
Born: May 28
Comedy Writer
Composer
Conductor
Historian
Jurist
Lyricist
Musician
Novelist
Performing Artist
Poet
Poet Lawyer
Singer
Songwriter
Writer
Dublin city
Tom Moore
Anacreon Moore
Thomas
the younger Brown
Thomas Little
Thomas Mur
Tomas Mur
Thomas Brown
Thomas Brown the younger
Still
Though
Ireland
Make
Lasts
Wherever
Erin
Last
Thou
Roam
Eye
Climate
Bosom
Art
Sorrow
Thine
Stills
Seem
Bosoms
Seems
Shall
Exile
Home
Eyes
Glimpse

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The past, the future: - two eternities!
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The key to seeing the world's soul, and in the process wakening our own, is to get over the confusion by which we think that fact is real and imagination is illusion.
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This is the right time, and this is the right thing.
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What's important is finding out what works for you.
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You may break, you may shatter the vase, if you will, But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.
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We need people in our lives with whom we can be as open as possible. To have real conversations with people may seem like such a simple, obvious suggestion, but it involves courage and risk.
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A friendship that like love is warm A love like friendship, steady.
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All that's bright must fade, The brightest still the fleetest All that's sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest.
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Disappointments in love, even betrayals and losses, serve the soul at the very moment they seem in life to be tragedies. The soul is partly in time and partly in eternity. We might remember the part that resides in eternity when we feel despair over the part that is in life.
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In our prayer and meditation we hope for fulfilling ordinary life.
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We let a river shower its banks with a spirit that invades the people living there, and we protect that river, knowing that without its blessings the people have no source of soul.
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Rich and rare were the gems she wore, And a bright gold ring on her hand she bore.
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The young May moon is beaming, love. The glow-worm's lamp is gleaming, love. How sweet to rove, Through Morna's grove, When the drowsy world is dreaming, love! Then awake! - the heavens look bright, my dear, 'Tis never too late for delight, my dear, And the best of all ways To lengthen our days Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear!
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Though an angel should write, still 'tis devils must print.
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The ordinary acts we practice every day at home are of more importance to the soul than their simplicity might suggest.
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How many times do we lose an occasion for soul work by leaping ahead to final solutions without pausing to savor the undertones? We are a radically bottom-line society, eager to act and to end tension, and thus we lose opportunities to know ourselves for our motives and our secrets.
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Disguise our bondage as we will, 'Tis woman, woman, rules us still.
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The heart that has truly loved never forgets, But as truly loves on to the close.
Thomas Moore
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Bastard Freedom waves Her fustian flag in mockery over slaves.
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Like the stain'd web that whitens in the sun, grow pure by being purely shone upon.
Thomas Moore